Bayonet (A Dixon Brothers story)
by ArcheryLefty
Summary: Merle is trying to fix things: himself mostly. Daryl is trying to get his brother back-Hershel is trying to not bash their silly heads together. A certain bullet goes awry. Redemption of A Jerk. ( Merle & Daryl Dixon) First person multiple POV. copious cussing, slurs (do you expect anything else out of the wonderful Dixon boys?) Lots of sarcasm and angst some humor. Enjoy & Review!
1. FUBAR

Bayonet

**Merle vs. governor but plans goes awry and so does a certain bullet. 1st person crazy headspace with filthy language, racial slurs and disrespecting women. In other words, the Merle we love and love to hate. Merle and all other characters from TWD are not owned by me. The OC is owned by me (much good it will do me). Much of this will be a character study and it all will be 1st person study from multiple characters point of view. I will try to keep it somewhat canon but much of it will be behind the scenes that we know best. Slight alterations will occur due to ramifications of that certain bullet going astray and our favorite antihero having some luck for once. Merle is a southerner but I most certainly am not. That being said I tried to make his speaking voice be close to Southern speech. **

**This is a rewrite folks; thanks to my amazing Beta, Sinvisigoth the grammar and the flow of the story should hopefully improve (other than this note). My thanks for her thoughts and support. It's great to have the constructive criticism that I've needed for a long time.**

**~Lefty~Merle POV.**

"I ain't gonna beg. I ain't begging you!"

I looked into the governors emotionless blue eye, and although my battered body was screaming a litany of curses at him, I had lost so much that I had to hold onto my pride and go down fighting like a Dixon; tough and stubborn to the bitter end. The gunshot rang out, hit me in the chest and played ping pong in my insides, careening through me like a drunk on payday before crashing through my back. The only problem with that idea was that, impossibly, this was not my end. To hurt this much and not die, well that's just fucking wrong…I WANTED to die now. You make an entrance, do your job and if you do it well, then you get to make an exit. If not, then you go out on your own terms. To understand this you have to rewind this crazy world a couple of days. Bear with me. You know you can't resist the Dixon charm.

There's no place for me in this world, not anymore. The governor sees me as a traitor to be killed and Officer Friendly's group sees me as the Devil, someone to keep around and use for the dirtiest of work. Where can I fit? I won't go down to Crazy Eye's level. Maybe if I take out enough of Crazy Eye's fighters…just maybe Daryl will be okay and maybe - that's a big maybe - all will be forgiven on their end. Well, that was the idea anyway. Anyone will tell you I'm a selfish bastard and I won't deny it. Call me anything but soft, but my baby brother will always come first with me. He's still got a chance and I will do anything for him; maybe I can make up for not being there for him when he was a kid.

He's all I've ever had. I wasn't a good brother to him. I wasn't there when he wanted me, needed me. Even when I was gone, I thought of him, imagined what he'd say to shit I was doing. We're eight years apart, too much to really grow up together, but too little for me to really be able to raise him. Having him kept me from having a bullet for lunch several times. Come on, look at me, who in their right mind would think I should take care of a kid? And people think I'm stupid…right. Some simple minded piece of shit that's what you think…yes? Except that's not true; I think, I feel. I have to work with the hand I've been dealt. As I told Michonne, I only have one. Too bad it's not a very good one. But I've always been good at making the best of nothin', because that's all I've ever had. Daryl being the greatest exception to that.

Our Daddy was a drunken bastard, dumb as a box of rocks and loved to cause misery, especially to his family. Daryl and I are covered in belt marks courtesy of that evil sonofabitch. I hoped that when I left he would stop hitting, since I couldn't ever stop myself from provoking the stupid bastard. I think now I was hiding the ugliest of truths from myself. But not smart enough to see it right before my eyes, and powerless to prevent it. Daryl paid the price for that mistake and I see my sins on every scar etched in his back by my daddy's belt. No matter that I have at least double the marks he does. That don't matter; he shouldn't have any marks. He was a good kid, sweet, only wanted to please. In another family he would have been perfect. As a Dixon he was a pussy. I worked hard to toughen him up so he'd be Okay when I had to leave. I knew it was only a matter of time. So I taught him to hunt and track to live off the land, to survive alone in the woods. I hope I raised him well enough. Who knew those were exactly the skills we need for surviving a fuckin' apocalypse?

Our Momma was a sad, lumpish housewife who tried to drink away the bruises and broken bones. Easier than to get up off her butt and actually stop all the abuse. She finally ended herself when Daryl was about ten by passing out in bed with a lit cigarette and setting herself afire. What else she gonna do? High school sweetheart, dropped out to be a mommy. She must have had shit for brains to put up with the crap that my daddy dished out. I remember how she loved Daryl for about two days until he cried at night. She was shaking him and instead just tossed him on the bed where he cried and cried. I told her it's ok, I'll watch him. Picture of maternal concern was my mamma. See, you can't judge a book by its cover; I don't actually eat babies for lunch, and I am quite good with them. It's just that their Mothers don't like the look of me. I honestly can't blame them; even I have to admit that I avoid the mirror more often than not.

I've always been a selfish bastard, and ruthless. Taking Michonne to Woodbury to be a torture surprise for governor didn't taste too good any more. So, being a dumbass, I kick Michonne out of the car and make it my own party. I just can't lower myself to the governor's level knowing what he will do. I might be a real piece of work, and I often don't understand why I come to the decisions I do, but its done come time to take a stand. Maybe Mouse is right and I am a late bloomer. Things that were okay a month ago don't sit so well anymore. I may not live to see Daryl again but I can choose a good way to end this sorrowful life of mine. I doubt I will survive this; about as much chance as finding a vegetarian walker. Turns out even the best constructed military plans go awry. And the military couldn't handle ol' Merle anyway. I have a small chance to survive. Let's see if I'm as good at this shit as I think I am.

So, how to make a good diversion to buy me some time to take my shots. I find a bunch of geeks and herd them to Woodbury. Damn slowest idiots ever. Shit. I thought I'd run out of gas. I'm the fuckin' Pied Piper of walkers. So I finally get there with my little bunch of admirers, take cover, and set up my ambush in an old warehouse. I put my rifle out the window, still a little clumsy as I have to sight out of my right eye but have to use the trigger with my left hand, my only hand. Adjusting the sights and shooting is fuckin' awkward one handed.

I start to think my little game of distracting the governor's thugs with my herd of hungry admirers is gonna work. I start picking the stupid bastards off while they're busy. I keep moving window to window so they don't draw a bead on me until I get them all. I am so close to getting the governor as well but then unfortunately one of the walkers found me and attacked me while I was sniping and I got revealed. I was surrounded by the dumbasses that I used to lead and they took pleasure kicking the shit outta me. I covered my head with my hand and little Merle my prosthetic –but I still took some damage. I felt a rib go but protected my head somewhat. Then the governor showed up.

"Leave him to me," with the emptiest tone of voice. Deader than those brainless bastards trying to chew my ass off.

He tussled me a bit. Choked me. Never thought he was so strong. He's taller but I thought I was meaner as well as stronger; turns out I was wrong. As he was beating the living shit outta me, the coldness in his eye chilled me to the bone. He was dead to the core of his being, more so than the corpses. I wonder how he hid that behind his politeness and cold charm that never quite seemed right. He might have only one eye but I was the one who was blinded. Typical Merle, dumbass bullshit; throwing in for the wrong thing and forgetting what was important.

Then he bit my smallest two fingers off of my remaining hand. REALLY! He enjoys being cruel and brutal does the governor. Now I truly want to die. I can't be a cripple. How does one survive with that much damage to their hands? I refuse to be seen as weak. No-one knows how hard I have to work at not seeming gimpy with only one hand, even with the bayonet.

Have you ever tried to tie your boots one handed or do your belt? Or even cut your food and eat without looking like an animal? Not. Easy. Then he grabbed my bayonet arm and yanked it opposite of the elbow. SNAP. There goes the bone above the elbow. Red hot lava exploded inside my arm, right above the metal supports. Shit shit shit that fuckin' HURT!

I refuse to beg and I won't be a cripple but I'm too broken to use a gun anymore; my plan's gone to shit. I WON'T BEG. I just hope what I did is enough. Goodbye, Daryl. You always were the sweet one, the smarter one, and I love you even if I couldn't say it. One of my earliest lessons in this cruel world was that you have to be tough to survive all the ugliness and at times fight back with ugliness of your own. No, I don't think it's enjoyable; it's just what I had to do to be a survivor. Ain't as cold as most people think. Even a trashy redneck like me has to have some pride. Damn. So I won't beg, and I say so.

"I ain't gonna beg. I ain't begging you!"

I look the Governor in the face and expect his to be ironically the last face I see in this half assed existence. As I've said before, Karma is a wily bitch with a truly reprehensible sense of humor. Go figure; my death is a joke just like my whole fucking life was. Now I stare back with time a slowing down and I'm done ready to call it my end. At least my suffering is well and done.

Or not!

"No, Merle. Ya won't never have to beg; not while I'm here," said Daryl, who had just snuck in. He fires a bolt at the governor, hitting him high in the chest as he turns to his blind side, dropping him to the floor.

BANG. The governor's gun goes off and hits me mid chest at an angle

Oww my chest. Shit, is this what a heart attack feels like? I can't fuckin' breathe. It hurts. It hurts. I think my chest is shattered like a beer bottle in a bar brawl. Why can I still feel it? The force spins me and throws me down to the floor. The shock of still being alive and still being able to move a little sets in. I flip onto my left side and start coughing and breathing with blades of glass slicing me with every breath, laughing at the irony.

"What? Why are you here, baby brother?!"

He told me later he hit governor with a bolt. Right in the chest just like me. But he was too concerned about keeping me breathing to care about ending him.

"Damn pussy, Darylina, whatchya here for? Just lemme be. I ain't no good now".

"Shut up, Asshole; you don't get to fucking die. Shut up. Just breathe. Gotta stop the bleeding here hold this wrapper. Your chest sucks," he said as he pressed into my wounds to keep me from bleeding out. Yes, I did snicker at that.

Darylina, leave me, leave me. Why are you dragging me, you stupid motherless asshole? What are you doing? OHH, the Nubian queen; she came to help.

I found out later that she followed him. The only reason they caught up to me was the damn slow geeks and me playing Pied Piper of walkers. It's funny that the walkers in some crazy ass way saved ole Merle for the ladies. Hummph.


	2. Another Use for Duct Tape

**Bayonet**

**Merle vs. governor but plans goes awry and so does a certain bullet. 1st person crazy headspace with filthy language, racial slurs and disrespecting women. In other words, the Merle we love and love to hate. Merle and all other characters from TWD are not owned by me. The OC is owned by me (much good it will do me). Much of this will be a character study and it all will be 1st person study from multiple characters point of view. I will try to keep it somewhat canon but much of it will be behind the scenes that we know best. Slight alterations will occur due to ramifications of that certain bullet going astray and our favorite antihero having some luck for once. Merle is a southerner but I most certainly am not. That being said I tried to make his speaking voice be close to Southern speech. **

**Short one but lots of Merle/Daryl brotherly love. I love how they are both complex incredibly undervalued people; smart yet uneducated &amp; way more than what they appear. Self taught; I really respect that . **

**This is a rewrite folks; thanks to my amazing Beta, Sinvisigoth the grammar and the flow of the story should hopefully improve (other than this note). My thanks for her thoughts and support. It's great to have the constructive criticism that I've needed for a long time.**

**~Lefty~.**

**Breathe**

**Merle POV**

In the midst of the chaos that I created, the governor's people didn't care about one crappy old car moving slowly. The Nubian Queen was driving me 'home' to the prison while Daryl stubbornly tried to stop my bleeding and keep me breathing. Guess he learned something from hunting and our abusive home life (you guessed it; he has patched me up many times). You sometimes get a deer that's shot through the chest, runs off and suffers, bleeding out, dying from shock as the lungs collapse and air builds up around the lung. This results in too much pressure in the other lung and on the heart. The animal bleeds out or suffocates, but it takes a while. If the lungs don't collapse the animal (or human) could live long enough to bleed to death in fear and pain. I taught Daryl to never let that happen because it seemed so likely that it would be agonizing.

Now I know that it is agonizing. It's so much harder to live in pain and struggle against devastating wounds. Dying would have been the easy part; guess I'm too damn stubborn or stupid to die. Would have literally been the first time I did something the easy way. It felt as though I was torn apart from the inside. I was getting cold from blood loss. Daryl was screaming at me and calling me soft. But somehow he sealed the sucking wounds and I was still breathing and swearing a stream of inventive cussing only an angry, redneck biker would have been able to come up with.

I'd told him a story from when I was in the marines and one of my fellow soldiers was shot through in the field. The medic applied airtight dressings on his back and semi airtight on the front leaving one side free. It stabilized the lungs until we got him into a hospital and he did survive. All they'd had to do was control his bleeding and lung pressure and hope he didn't die of an infection. Damn him, Daryl knew exactly what to do. That boy could have been so smart if he had finished school but he only has a tenth grade education, just like me. That's what you get when you grow up in the Dixon clan. He saved me and I didn't really want to be saved. It's hard work healing from nasty injuries like these, and there is always the possibility that I will always be gimpy. When I get moving again I'm gonna kick your ass into tomorrow baby brother.

I'm most worried about now having two fingers gone from my remaining hand. How the hell am I supposed to be able to do all the shit I've always done when I'm missing most of my fingers? I'm going to be clumsy as shit. Others will see me as a cripple and the weak link. I'd see someone that way who was missing most of their fingers. FUCK. This is gonna be damn near impossible. Then again, I ain't ever been soft. There is some benefit to being underestimated. Like how most people think me a dumb hick; so obviously wrong if someone takes time to know me. I prefer not to give them the chance to see how smart I really am because I can outthink most people. So many equate education with intelligence, when most college educated snooty bastards can't outthink me. That was why I hated the military.

I don't feel angry anymore; I feel sleepy and calm. I listen as Daryl screams at me and feel his tears dripping on me as he desperately tries to prevent me from bleeding out or suffocating. I feel the warmth of his hands on my skin (so cold from blood loss). I smell his odor, mixed with the coppery smell of my own blood. All my senses sharpen, and then mix together as reality fades. I dream. Daryl is a toddler, I'm almost eleven, just starting to grow into my size. I'm showing him the fish in the stream and he is laughing his baby laugh, trying to catch the fish in his hands he almost falls in but I catch him, already fearless and loving being outside.

"Don't worry, brother, I've got ya. Ain't never gonna let you go. You're the only one I've got." Then it hits me…HE hits me…this is now and he won't let me be, won't let me go, won't let me rest. I'm so tired; damn you, can't you just let me fucking rest? My chest hurts. My back, my hand, my ribs hurt, my arm hurts; it's hard to breathe. Each breath feels like my lungs are chewing up glass. But surprisingly enough I'm still breathing, my heart is still beating, and the bleeding is slowing down.

"Hold on, got some walkers up ahead." She guns it and smooch goes the fuckers in the way. Again I dream. It's raining, pounding against the cheap, tin roof, the holes in my shoes smooshing mud up through my toes. (Incidentally I HATE being barefoot; I've always equated being on top of the food chain with wearing boots). I'm hearing my old man crashing around in a drunken state yelling at my mom. I'm fifteen or so and Darylina is seven, being a pain in the ass. He just got his umpteenth concussion from the old man and a bloody nose, to boot. Stupid kid, why'd he have to pour the beer out? When is he gonna learn some brains? I'm not going to be around forever. I care about him, but I gotta get outta here or I'm gonna kill the bastard. My back is still healing from last week and I still have bruises around my throat from being choked. Why do I have to raise him? I'm only eight years older; I don't know nothing about kids. I want to join the military and learn how to put some hurting on someone who deserves it and never, never be on this end of the pain again. What do I do about the kid? He deserves it less than I do…

I fade in and out of reality as the car barrels down the road with walkers bouncing off the heavy, beat-to-shit, metal car (best to hotwire), like a damn pinball machine. I mumble "Daryl, ya dumbass why the hell waste yer time with me? Should have just left me; I'm gonna die anyway. I'm more worthless than a pussy full of splinters."

I grunt and groan with each walker collision, each bump sending shockwaves of pain through my already abused body. "Damn, Nubian Queen, didya get yer license out of a gum machine? Ya ain't driving worth a shit. Ya got an injured man back here." I start laughing and coughing up ropes of blood stained snot. Fuck. They careen into the prison, bursting through the gates as Bo Peep and Chinatown dive out of the way. I enjoy the view as I begin to laugh and pass out again. Listening to my brother swear, the voices fade and the darkness urges me on, pulling me into its peace as I begin to fade again.


	3. Bleeding Heart Broken Ribs

_**Chapter 3 note: I apologize in advance for medical jargon, but I work in a medical field and when I write about medical subjects. I sometimes get into that head space which is never too far from the surface anyway. However, I did try to tame it a bit. I just wanted my wonderful readers to know that is the exception but not the rule. Bear with me, Hershel thinks like a MD. Merle is a noodle we won't get much from him. Daryl is freaking and Hershel god bless him is holding everyone together. Let's hope others can show him some common (not so common) human decency. Please review review review. Let me know how I'm doing here it motivates me to continue. To my wonderful reviewers thanks so much. You are helping me keep this up. I love writing. You are helping me continue.**_

**This is a rewrite folks; thanks to my amazing Beta, Sinvisigoth the grammar and the flow of the story should hopefully improve (other than this note). My thanks for her thoughts and support. It's great to have the constructive criticism that I've needed for a long time.**

Bleeding heart, broken ribs

I listen to the chaos as the old, battered car brings my even more battered body back to the prison; incredibly I'm still alive.

"OPEN THE DAMN GATE!"

The car careens inside and Maggie and Glennn are cursing.

Daryl snaps back at them "Yes, he might have given his life. Now shut the fuck up. HERSHEL! Someone get him now!"

The world goes black and peaceful. I get the first good sleep that I've had in too long, maybe since the rooftop in Atlanta. Hope they're giving me some good drugs; Lord knows I deserve them. I am suddenly airborne. I fly far away on my dreams. Goodbye, baby bro.

Daryl POV

He survived the trip and that's more than I expected. I can't believe that duct tape and a piece of plastic bag done sealed the holes up in his chest and back. I helped him breathe and when he's well enough I'm gonna tell him what a good kisser he is. He's just so broken. Never seen someone take such a bad beating and then get shot right through the chest, lose yet more fingers, and live. Hershel's trying to find a blood donor. I don't know what blood type he has; I never gave much thought to blood and really didn't consider there's more than one type. Not 'til his life depends on getting blood to make up for what he's lost. But that means he can receive only one blood type, the kind that everyone can have as Hershel describes it, universal I think, and go figure it's not mine.

"IF ANYONE KNOWS THAT THEY HAVE TYPE O- BLOOD, please step forward so that Merle here does not make the ultimate sacrifice of giving his life. He has a bad chest wound but can make it if we take good care of him."

"I do!" That's the new chick with the brats, she's big, looks healthy. Merle likes them that way, junk in the trunk, likes cushion for the pushing he used to joke.

Hershel starts needling her. She looks calmer than I gave her credit for. "Hey thanks. I'm Daryl. That's my brother, Merle.

"What happened to him?"

"He went and did something damn stupid - tried to take out the Governor."

"He's pretty tough though huh. I'm amazed he survived a shot to the chest like that."

"Yeah he is. Too stubborn to die. Proud too, pain in the ass most of the time, my brother".

"My name is Skya."

"What kind of name is that?"

"What kind of name is Daryl or Merle," she smiles.

"Old Southern family names, I think. Just you and yer kids?"

"Gone. All of my family is gone. Just me and the rugrats, I think."

"Sorry. How did it happen?" As I watch, she smirks and looks away.

"Everyone has a story. We all have lost. It doesn't matter how. It happened and as much as I wish it, I can't make it unhappen. So life goes on, and we mourn, but we have to live life for the living. I drove and drove with the kids and ended up finding Woodbury. They used my medical skills. They gave me a place and a function, but I could tell it was bad. All the hushed glances. I kept us out of the way. Then, when it was over, I followed the convoy over from Woodbury after the Governor went batshit. I have medical training to help Hershel and he has agreed to teach me. He needs someone else who can learn to suture and isn't squeamish."

"What kind" I ask

"Huh?"

"Medical training?"

"Oh right, I was a therapist."

"What?"

"Physical therapist." (A what? I think as she continues) "I helped people heal broken bones, get strong after illness or a stroke, learn to compensate while they were healing and be more independent. I loved it. I was good at it too. Hershel asked that I help take care of your brother, but I wanted to talk to you first. I will help take care of him if you let me."

I consider; he needs someone like her from the sounds of it. But Merle is very private about needing other people and will not want to depend on a woman, especially for private needs.

"Might could."

"Huh?"

"You're a Yankee." I laugh at her.

"No shit! But thank you."

"Where y'all from?"

"Ohio near the lake."

"Shit girl yer long damn way from home. Get stranded or something?"

"Yeah, something like that".

"DARYL!" Carol appears and I start to walk away from Skya, who is still bleeding for my brother. I'm feeling a slight sense of relief, that Merle might actually have a chance at survival with Hershel and Skya helping him, and that there may be others who actually DON'T want him to die.

"Hey Skya...thanks. Good to meet you and uh welcome." I thank her, but don't really know what to say. I favor her with a slight nod.

"Sure, later then," she says as I turn away to see what Carol needs.

"Hey, Carol."

She looks understandingly concerned. She of all people understands my silence, my need for communicating non-verbally. My closest friend, she is one of the few who feels no need to fill the silence. If she could only read my mind; it would relieve me from having to put my thoughts into words. It's always been so uncomfortable for me, but if it's one thing that I have learned from the dead rising - the Bible pegged it but I don't think this is what they had in mind - is that I can't be a hermit no more. We have to do this survival thing with people. I told that to Merle before he ran off like a damn fool with Michonne, nearly got his simpleminded self killed. I can't wait 'til he is better so I can kick his dumb ass.

"So glad you're back. What happened?" she asks as I walk up to her.

"My idiot brother attacked the Governor and nearly got hisself killed. He might still die; Hershel's not sure yet."

Carol puts her hand to her mouth and gasps. "I'm so sorry. I wish I could tell you it's going to be okay. You know I'm here for you whatever you need. He's not a good man but he doesn't deserve this. This really stinks."

I can't help it; she always makes me smile. She has the oddest energy, calming to me but she is so often antsy, almost bursting out of herself with energy even if it is quiet energy. I don't know how to explain it.

"Is she donating blood, that new woman?" she asks as I begin to walk toward where Hershel is treating Merle.

"Yeah. Universal donor or some such shit."

"Nice of her."

"Yeah. She has medical training too, might help Hershel with Merle."

"You okay?" she asks.

I shrug and grunt. She smiles in her quiet way, not pressuring me.

"Let me know if I can help."

"Thanks, Carol. Hershel's gonna start working on him in a minute, as soon as that one is done donating blood. "

She puts her hand on my arm. As always I flinch a little, but she of all people understands why it's not personal.

"You trust her?"

"I dunno. But I'll be there."

Hershel POV

So Merle had tried to take out the Governor's men and kill him. He had probably planned to die trying and make up for past mistakes. If I have a measure of Merle, and I believe I do, he is not as cold hearted as he would have people believe. But he also is unable to make any connections with people outside of his own family.

Daryl, Rick and Michonne carried Merle in from the car and attempted to gently drop him onto my bed. Maggie and Beth work on setting up my cell into a surgical area to treat him. As I examine the poor fool up go the IV bags and they set up scalpels, sutures, restraints which will hopefully not be needed, a crude sling and swathe for his handless arm, that is even now sticking out at an angle and needs to be set. Water is being boiled for his care in the kitchen.

The whole prison is buzzing with activity as we prepare to save this sorry excuse of a man. Carol is caring for Judith so Beth and Maggie can assist me with any surgery. Skya watches from an extra cot while donating her blood and Daryl waits for my direction, looking both horrified and hopeful. He sits by Merle who is twitching with pain and shock, mumbling in his dreams. He applies pressure to slow his bleeding through the critical wounds. He talks to him softly, love shining from his eyes. He had probably never expected to see his brother again.

Fresh linens are being washed and clothing that will fit Merle being found, preferably minus the gore and miasma of walker foulness. Carl and Michonne are hauling water to clean his stinky self and keep the possibility of infection down. As I prepare to begin, Rick brings in a gurney that will take him to the infirmary when he is stable enough to leave my cell, aka the ICU. Glenn looms protectively in the background, glaring lightning bolts at the now helpless Merle as Maggie assists me.

"Daryl, I will need you to cut his shirt off and gently remove his prosthetic, but try not to move his arm too much, son. Maggie and Beth, please stay near and help me move him so I can examine him".

He is going to have a hard time healing because he doesn't know how to rely on others. Most people see him as a dumb, redneck jerk. And he is. But he also has a razor wit and sense of humor as well as his own sense of honor. Not a bad man but a man with an ambiguous moral compass who followed his need to survive and to protect his younger brother in a world gone mad.

Daryl snips his dirty over shirt and undershirt off, revealing a very pale chest, very thin but well muscled. Excellent physique for a man who had to be entering his fifties. What surprises me, although maybe it shouldn't, is the amount of old scarring on his chest and a huge burn on the left side of his stomach, just visible over the rim of his pants. He stinks horribly. Daryl catches my eye and raises an eyebrow, clearly stating 'Don't ask; trust me you don't want to know'. So I see that he was the protective older brother. Daryl has many scars, but Merle is positively covered in them. Some of them layered where lightning so to speak had struck more than once.

So let's see...extensive contusions all over, massive chest wound, sucking, which had narrowly missed the pericardium and heart. I can't believe his luck; there's no damage to any arterial vessels. He was hit just right of the sternum, cracking it. Looks like the bullet entered the chest cavity through ribs four and five, breaking them front and back, as well as nicking upper lobe of liver and diving through the middle lobe of the right lung. It finally exited through the back three inches right of the spine, cracking the border of his scapula. The bleeding is controlled by Daryl's dressings and pressure. Infection and keeping the lung functional will be the biggest problem here. He is lucky, though; he doesn't look like he is bleeding internally, and he isn't getting distended or losing blood pressure.

What else. His right arm is broken just above the elbow, likely out of alignment and very nasty. He will need some traction to reduce the fracture but it is, thankfully, doable. He will require a sling and swathe to tie it to his body. Pneumonia will be a huge concern. He will need massage and reminders to work at expanding those sore ribs and lung.

His remaining hand looks like two more fingers missing. Torn off? How in the world is he going to manage life as it is now with only a thumb and two fingers? He is not a man who is able in any way to ask for help and yet help is what he will need. He might have a broken jaw and cracked orbital bone, too.

Well, my girls and Skya will help and so will Daryl. It's amazing that he survived at all. Sure thing we got a lot of work to do.

Skya finishes donating while I'm examining Merle and Daryl and I begin to clean him up. He is a mess! We have certainly gotten used to a new degree of dirty since the dead began to walk. No one flinches at being covered in gore. Still, it's hard to know where his bleeding begins and where the extraneous gore ends. Turns out that Daryl's field dressings were good. Luckily he was able to find a plastic bag and some duct tape and apply a seal to both wounds so Merle could breathe.

Daryl waits for further direction as I listen to Merle's heart. "He's stable for now but I have to put a chest tube in to get the air out of his chest cavity."

Daryl looks away, blinking. "Whatever you need to do old man; just give me some more time with my brother."

I continue. "Thank the Lord that the prison was well stocked with medical supplies and none of us has been injured enough to need them. If he will tolerate an oxygen mask or a nasal cannula there are some old oxygen tanks that will help his breathing become easier." I look at Maggie and nod.

Merle mumbles "Fuck off bitch. I pick my own nose," as Maggie places the oxygen tube in his nose. Daryl gnawing on his thumb considers it "He might fight you; he doesn't like anything near his face. But do anything you need to if it will help him."

I'm glad of his help because Merle, although injured, is a large, strong man. "Daryl, I need you to hold him steady. He is unconscious but not completely out of it."

Now I insert a hollow needle between intercostal space between his uppermost ribs. I hear a leak and he begins to breathe more regularly, as his blood pressure begins to rebound. Merle moans and starts pushing against Daryl.

"It's OK, big brother. I'm here. I'm not going to let you go. Stop being such a pussy; you can take this. This much whining from a guy who cut his own damn hand off?"

I shake my head. I will never understand 'Dixon love', but it's clear that they have a deeper bond than most siblings do. I put his chest tube in and seal it to his chest. He moans with the incision but breathes better, and his heart rate becomes more stable with the evacuation of the rest of the extraneous air in the chest cavity outside of his lung. I set up a bag of blood to increase his blood volume, especially important given that we won't know more about internal injuries until his bowels move.

I assess the entrance and exit wounds and I notice that the exit wound has cloth sticking out of it. I remove the cloth and open the wound up to remove the rest of the fragments of the bullet and irrigate the wound, taking time to realign his broken ribs. Then I pack the wound with a sterile dressing. The puncture wounds will bear some careful, ongoing observation for infection. Deep wounds like that will have to be cleaned, changed and repacked every other day at the most.

"OK, I will need some assistance setting this arm. Maggie I need you holding his body and Daryl I will need you to hold his stump and elbow and guide his arm as I say; a gentle traction should do it. Looks like his arm was forced behind him and his humerus snapped under the pressure of the supports from his prosthetic."

At that point he begins to wake up and he starts screaming and fighting, coughing blood up from his lung as he tries to get away.

"Oh hell no. Yer NOT pulling my arm off. Get off me, Daryl. What the hell is wrong with ya? That fucking hurts."

I give him an injection to put him back out. We try again and I feel it as his bone slides into place.

"Maggie, honey, can you make Merle a sling; something to tie his arm snug against his body he can't move any part of his arm for a while?"

Now the fingers. It looks as though they were bitten off.

"Daryl, was he bitten by a walker? These stumps look like bite marks and they're crushed almost like a human bite, but I don't see any rotting like you see in a walker bite."

"Nah, the Governor did that just before he shot him. I saw him spit them out. Batshit crazy bastard.

I just couldn't believe it but here is Merle with a missing right hand and now a mangled left one. It's imperative that we preserve as much of these stumps as possible so he can at least get a minimal use out of them. The bones are splintered. The smallest digit is gone just above the lowest knuckle. I take two centimeters of mangled soft tissue off, releasing the tendons so his hand doesn't contract into his palm, and stitch the stump closed. Hopefully he will have no infection from it. The ring finger is gone just beyond the middle knuckle and hopefully he will have slight use of the joint even just to support his grasp a little more. I hope the governor is fastidious about his oral hygiene, because human mouths are some of the most bacteria infested places on Earth.

"Maggie, can you set up some IV antibiotics and some saline to support his blood volume? Merle here might have a couple of brutal infections coming his way. So we will have someone watching him at all times. He will probably be out of it for quite a while but it's important to have someone watching his breathing and to make sure he doesn't thrash around in his sleep. It's crucial that he doesn't lay on his right side due to the chest tube and the severity of his rib and arm fractures. He is just a mess. Daryl I would like you to take a shift, Skya you too. You have expertise in what he needs being that you are a therapist. I need all the help I can get with him because he will be a handful until he wakes and no doubt after as well. I can't imagine he will take kindly to limitations of any description; he will doubtless be a very trying patient and probably be his own worst enemy. Still, he is Daryl's brother and therefore family to us as well."

Daryl POV

He might just make it but he is the most injured I've ever seen him. All the fights he's been in, the drug problems, how badly Daddy beat him before he left for the military, the juvie stints, jail time and time in military prison; he's never done a number on himself like this. He's a tough, ornery old bastard and if anyone can handle this it will be him. Maybe for once in his pathetic excuse for a life he may actually listen to someone who can help him; that will be truly the next sign of the end of the world. He is not going to handle the mutilation of his left hand well.

Everyone always underestimates him because he is so obviously a simple, dumb as shit redneck. Except he ain't; he just acts like one to get people off their guard and then he worms his way into their head and manipulates them. I've never seen someone so good at manipulating others. Yet he will never admit that he feels conflicted about the shit he does; I know he is, though.

He looks so old and tiredness bags under his eyes, gaunt, like he hasn't slept in a year. It's likely that he hasn't, not since Atlanta. He always did have lots of nightmares. He always would be looking out the window in the middle of the night when we were kids and he woke hisself up in a nightmare. He'd say "It's okay Darylina, just a nightmare. It won't bite". Now he's thinner than I've ever seen him. Still fit and muscular but aging fast. Looks just like our Daddy did; but older now than when Daddy got hisself killed. Maybe he'll learn that it won't kill him to work with others, that he can teach people things too. But here he is in Hershel's cell with Skya, a mother grizzly if I've ever seen one. I hope she will put him in his place immediately or he will be the worst patient she has ever seen.

Skya is putting the kids to bed here in Hershel's cell where she can watch both them and him. We have set it up to take shifts, with mine being first. I watch her curl up with each in turn, cuddle them, talk to them, tell them a story and sing softly. She is a wonderful mother. I wonder how she can handle all the change she has gone through. It must be this that gives her strength. She sees me watching her and nods at me then curls up against her son.

He fell asleep before she got to him and yet she still gives him the benefit of feeling her curl up with him briefly as he sleeps. Those kids are so lucky. I guess I feel a little envious. Merle and I never had that, not even a little. We had to make each other tough so we would survive at all. Merle was there for me in his own way but no one was there for him. Yet maybe he drew strength from having me to be strong for, just like Skya does for her little ones. As I watch him sleep he tries as always to flip over to his right side, groans and swears in his sleep. I scoot him back to his good side. He eases back deeper to sleep and mumbles "Darylina, ya pussy", then he sighs and quiets again. I doze, too; it's been a long two days. I know he will wake me if he moves.


	4. Humpy's Glue

Humpty's glue

Skya POV

We were able to stop the bleeding, repressurize his lung and realign most of his ribs and his arm. He will have some brutal scarring and a truly miserable recovery. He is lucky, though, and apparently a tough customer. I look at his face and he is a mass of bruises, but under that I look at his strong, uneven jaw and his crooked nose with new stitches down the side. He is no beauty, certainly; he has imperfect but attractive features and an inner strength that draws one in. He has obviously been battered many times and I bet he has been on the giving end of many fights, from the plethora of scarring on his back and chest. Still, his brother is devoted to him, so he must have been a protective older brother, willing to put himself on the line for his family. I wheel him on the gurney to the newly set up infirmary cell just a few down from Hershel.

As we transfer him to a cot he is out of it but he moans and flails as we move him. Daryl sits with him holding his shoulders as he settles down. I ease him off of his injured right side, bracing him with pillows so he doesn't roll back over. I set up one of the few oxygen tanks someone found for him to ease his breathing for the first few days of his recovery. Daryl and I strip him down to his underwear for ease of caregiving.

Daryl smirks and mumbles something about him being bare ass naked and sleepwalking "Yeah, let's see how far you get this time, gimp; the neighbors are all dead and walking so they don't much care no more."

Daryl plops into a chair while watching Merle's face as he eases back into unconsciousness, watching him breathe painfully. I cover him up to keep him warm and sit down to talk to Daryl in order to learn more about my unexpected new patient. I'm not used to being a nurse. Although I've worked in healthcare for years I've always been a therapist but never a nurse. Still, I can help an unconscious person change positions and I can help them keep clean and monitor their vitals. He will wrestle with death here tonight and Daryl and I will hold life's leash for him.

So, time to interview the silent guy.

"Daryl, can you tell me something about your brother?"

"What do ya want to know?"

"His medical history for one and anything that is important for me to know"

"My brother is a tough son of a bitch; never sick a day in his life. He will screw anything with a hole and female and has a long history of the clap. He liked to party and sometimes got sick from drug use. He had to detox a couple of times but he usually could function well enough to get by. He has had some injuries from fights and doing stupid shit for fun. He's been through hell and back in the Marines while fighting in Granada. Fucking hero. Got shot through the side and was their best sharpshooter."

That got her attention, she raises an eyebrow. "Huh, I'm impressed. My Dad was a Marine and he even saw combat in WW2. He was really proud of serving with them."

"Don't be, it was waste of five goddamn years of his life actually, but that's typical of him. He aims high and has the skill but ain't capable of keeping his damn mouth shut and ruins everything. He was put in military prison for beating the crap out of an officer. They provoked him 'cause they hated him for being a loudmouth redneck. It done lead him to an eventual dishonorable discharge and stripped him of all the shit he accomplished. Ain't that a bitch. Dumbass. Still, he has the best aim I've ever seen, even now he only has one fucking hand".

"What is he like to be around?"

"Why don't you ask the others? They'll tell ya, he's an asshole."

"I don't care what they think. They don't know him like you do." She shakes her head shrugging.

"Well he is an asshole. He always likes to stir shit up to see what falls out. He's a selfish sonofabitch. Still he raised me and taught me how to survive and live in the wild. He hates weakness, never been a pussy a day in his life. You feed him a hammer he'll crap out nails".

I snort, Daryl doesn't seem like the kind for a sense of humor but I guess I judged him too soon.

"Ouch, doesn't sound very good for the digestion. If you guys are crapping nails; I would hate to see what you're eating for breakfast."

Daryl stops and looks at me like I grew a second nose, then shakes his shaggy head and laughs.

"Damn, girl, don't ya know that's just an expression? Ya got me. I'm just not good at explaining my dumbass brother. I'll do anything for the simpleminded shithead but he's always been a problem for me." He sighs and looks off into the night.

"So anything I need to know that you don't want me to do for him? Like what if he stops breathing? Should I pound on his chest to start him up again even if it means that I might break all of his ribs? How about food allergies or triggers that might make him freak out while unconscious? I mean, what kind of patient should I expect?"

"Well, of course I want you to try to save him. He will probably hate me for doing it but I'm not going to let him give in this easy. He has a bad habit of stirring shit up and then disappearing. He thinks he is so tough but he tends to run away rather than deal with the crap that he caused. Dying would be the easy way out. For once he has a chance to really be something, to change his fucked up life. Damn if I'm gonna let him find a way to escape this time."

I look at him as I stretch and change position. It's going to be a long couple of days for the both of us.

"What about food allergies or problems with medications?"

"Nah. More like a drug problem. He likes them all way too much if you ask me. I think meth and coke are his favorites. He was clean in Woodbury though, first time in twenty years. I wish he would get sick on them actually. I don't want him to turn into a druggie again. He needs to have as little as possible or he will wake up with one hell of an addiction and be your worst nightmare as a patient. I don't even know you and I feel bad for you already. My brother is a drill up the ass on a good day."

"Is that one of those colorful Southern expressions?" I smile through a giant yawn. Giving blood always makes me sleepy.

"Nah. It just describes how difficult he is to get along with. Whatever you do, don't let him see how much he bugs you. It amuses him and he will just keep on doing it. He has the mentality of a junkyard dog. You either gotta ignore him or kick him in the head so he will respect you. Either way show him that you won't tolerate his crap. He ain't allergic to any food that I know. He likes meat most, but will eat vegetables if he has to. Likes berries and any sweet shit, ya can find. He'll eat anything you put in front of him; got an appetite of a damn goat."

Daryl starts fiddling with a piece of wood from his pocket, his limited social skills expended for the time being. He eyes me at first, shrugs as I nod with a small smile, burying myself deep in my thoughts; I have much to ruminate on.

I stare off into the night, silent for a while, considering. This could be my price of admission into this group. But damn what a high price. I've never seen injuries this bad not even when I was a therapist. Most people don't survive stuff like this. He's either really lucky or really unlucky. Or maybe karma owes him some pain. But what the hell did I get myself into? And here I thought I was going to give some blood, be a good little type O- universal donor. I wasn't prepared to be in charge of his recovery along with Daryl. Still I took an oath of beneficence as part of my medical training. It's interesting that it still holds true for me even past the end of the world. I must be crazy. Yet it may end up saving the lives of my kids if it causes the group to realize that we are worth keeping around for my medical skills. I'm not sure I want to be responsible for him. I've noticed that people really seem to hate him for some bad stuff he did and, from what I can figure out, the only reason he is being tolerated is because Daryl is his brother.

I watch my kids sleep in our borrowed cell. They are worth any annoying patient and damn me I've had a few annoying patients in my time. At least he is not old and demented. Those tried my tolerance the worst; they were like freaking Groundhog Day, same shit every five minutes. The good thing with the end of the world is I don't have to be politically correct or moderate my despicable potty mouth anymore to function. I can really say it like it is and tell them that I know how to help them heal and if they don't want to do it, it's their freaking problem not mine.

I look into the faces of my beautiful kids and see the world of possibilities limited by the horror of our new reality. I can't do things on my own anymore. I must depend on Daryl's goodwill and the challenge of helping Merle heal the best he can. If he lets me I can also help him adapt to his increased limitations, but I doubt he would do that. Something tells me that he is not used to respecting women in positions of authority. I need to accept that his being an asshole may just be Merle being Merle, not really a personal offense. We might be both learning how to depend on others for once. I look into his face and see that we might have some similar lessons to learn.

I turn back to ask Daryl about what Merle's interests are, and find him leaning against the wall next to his brother's bed sound asleep with his mouth hanging open, his arms slackly dropping off his lap, snoring gently. In the relaxation of sleep his expressions look the same as his brother. It's interesting that the two of them, who don't look all that similar in feature or body composition, can have the same expressions. It was true for my sister and I too. We weren't raised together, and we looked very different, but for some reason the cast of our expressions were the same even though our features weren't.

I can see how much both brothers have been through in the last two days. Obviously Merle has been through hell but he didn't think it through as one would expect of someone with military training. Desperation will do that to you though. I guess he was desperate to give his brother a chance. I look in his face under all the damage and I see it there. Lines. Scowl lines and laugh lines, smile lines and lines of crushing fatigue and stress. I see his strong jaw, pale skin and a full head of curly light brown graying hair, an Irish cast to his features, and pale skin completely unsuited to the harsh Georgia sun.

Daryl's face relaxed in sleep is unguarded. There are the deep set eyes, long nose and narrow face, and an olive tinge to his skin so unlike his brother, but then the eye color I noticed earlier is exactly the same. I see Daryl's fatigue in the bags under his eyes, of many sleepless nights and the worry of almost losing his brother again and permanently. Two brothers so different but so intertwined were so unlike anything at all in my experience. I see a conundrum and a challenge and my greatest flaw other than the obvious cussing and over the top personality is curiosity and loving a good challenge. I am truly and fully hooked; I couldn't say no if I wanted to. Karma, after all, is a wily and snarky bitch and I am a curious bitch who is unable to resist the right temptation.


	5. Snoring Dreams

Daryl POV 2 days later

I sit watching Merle's bare chest rise and fall, waiting for the moment when it all stops, when it finally stills for good. I know that it's said that when you die your life flashes before your eyes. Except his life flashes in front of mine. Bits and parts of the dickhead are mixed with the protective older brother. Taking beatings meant for me, failing at school when he should have been able to learn, failing in the military and at work and having to resort to being mired in crime and addiction; a litany of failed opportunities and abilities and intelligence not lived up to.

Unconscious, maybe dying, his was face for once at rest, free of the animation and guarded expression that is typical for my spirited, sometimes charismatic older brother, my only family left. The paleness of his skin so unlike my own tanned hide, covered in freckles and sun spots, lined deeply by stress, but also equally by humor and anger, both so deeply ingrained in his passionate personality. His deeply set angled eyes so strongly showing our father's Irish heritage, his graying, curly hair for once allowed to grow out of the militaristic buzz cut he has favored since his five years in the marines, the time that he was closest to succeeding. If it weren't for his black commanding officer giving him shit, things might have been different.

But then it is my impulsive, temperamental brother who can never leave things be, never have the good sense to ignore things; not Merle, he must always be extreme. I look at his powerful but injured frame and watch him continuing to breathe, his broken, handless arm strapped tightly to his body. His perforated chest and back were bandaged, adding ugly new scars to the roadmap of old ones, the massive bruises littering his face and body. His current condition was a testament to the brutal beating he took even before he was shot.

Upset and antsy, I'm feeling powerless to help Merle; only time and rest will help him now. I get up and walk across the infirmary, needing to move around to shift myself out of my gloomy thoughts and useless worries. I look at Skya and her two children crumpled up in the hastily thrown together cots and beds like a pile of puppies. Her hair dangles over the edge of the cot and her arm is thrown up over her face, her deep snores gentle but assertively sonorous.

Her two children are maybe younger than they look for Skya is a big girl, taller than any women here and several of the men; Glenn and Rick are short little shits after all. She seems bulkier too, even after losing weight through starvation that we all have experienced. She is sure and gentle with her children and surprisingly with my brother too. She is probably the only adult in the place who is not biased against my brother, Merle the miserable asshole who lost control of his anger and desperation and ruined all of his chances before and after the epidemic started. The one time he did something unselfish he nearly got himself killed, and might yet die. I walk over to the window, looking through the bars to smell the air, so much cleaner than before even with the miasma of walker stench. We have traded the background sounds of traffic and planes for growls from the walkers.

I stare out into the darkness, my spinning brain slowing, calming. My hope and worry balance each other out, my anger at my brother taking such a risk coming so close to ending things but permanently. So close to never having another chance to make things right between us.

Now I gotta look at the reality; I am going to have to literally take care of his ass, clean him, care for him, help him heal, help him deal with the fact that he can't live without other people. And the mighty Merle will have to accept help from others, at least for a while. He has a lot of healing to do and he will need help to even turn over in bed with all of those broken ribs and the healing lung. Now for fucking once he might learn from his mistakes. For the first time since I was old enough to drink, since he came home from military prison, he is now completely sober. This might force him to learn something for damn once. Fucking idiot.

The hitching of his breathing and painful moans are renewed and I cross back to the makeshift bed looking at my truly pathetic excuse for a brother who, for the umpteenth time, has rolled over to his injured handless side that he prefers to sleep on. I begin the miserable business of trying to roll him over to get him off his broken ribs and arm. Then I realize that the snores have stopped and the snorer has walked up behind me.

"It's easier if you grab the sheet and shift him over, blocking him to his left with a rolled up pillow under his hip with his right leg over the left. He probably needed to shift off of his good side for a little bit anyway, but now we can put him back. No one can lay in the same position for hours, unconscious or not. We can't let his skin get sore from being lain on anyway. That's the last thing he needs."

"Huh." (Shit man say something better than that; this is who takes care of his dumbass self when you're hunting or sleeping).

"Daryl you need sleep, too; just help me position him better so he gets some better rest. You need to find some rest too."

"Nah I'll do, you can leave us alone for now."

"No you won't! You do realize that as his family he is depending on you to take better care of yourself? And that means getting your ass into one of those beds and sleeping for awhile. You haven't left his side in three freaking days."

"What the hell, woman?"

"Don't call me Woman; it's really fucking insulting. Just like I don't call you dumbass right away; not until you've earned that title at least. I have a name; it's Skya and you best use It. You're an expert in survival skills and hunting. But not in caregiving. This is where I'm knowledgeable. You can do yourself a favor and take the break I'm offering or be a dumbass and be miserable. Merle needs you and how can you help him if you are getting sick from lack of sleep? Now get the fuck out of here and let me take over for you."

I gaze at her silently raising my eyebrow at her outburst. I slowly get up and look her in the eye, challenging her. She smiles looking me in the eye without looking away. Her eyes are so blue.

She whispers "I got this. I'm used to taking care of people. Merle's okay with me...really. I'll wake you if he comes to, but Hershel says he'll be out of it for a while. I mean it...sleep."

I go over to one of the empty cots and roll myself up in my coat. The damn arrogant Yankee is right and I am tired and more useless than a sneeze in a windstorm. I stretch out and feel my tired joints settle into the unfamiliar comfort of rest. I put my arm over my eyes as the world fades away and my brothers noisy breathing guides me to sleep.

I fly away on old memories, dreams from long ago, almost forgotten

Snoring

"Wake up, Merle."

"I cain't sleep; yer too loud."

(I'm in Merle's old stinky room at home. I'm eight, he's sixteen)

He is sleeping in his old t-shirt and boxers, snoring his brains out, the cold mountain air making his snores visible. He is sleeping on his back with his mouth open catching flies, feet sticking out from under his blanket, half in and out of bed. I make the mistake of poking him in the ribs while he sleeps. He is ridiculously ticklish. Yes the mighty Merle Dixon is ticklish, and gets very angry when that fact is revealed.

He woke up like a bull flipping over his lamp, tangling his legs up in his sheet , faceplanting hard into the floor. I back up fast and run into my room next door (our rooms shred a wall and had no privacy; I used to hear him jacking off too -horny fuck). He jumps up in fury and follows me into my room where I'm hiding under the bed he pulls me out drops me on the bed sits on my head and treats me to a nasty stored up fart right into my ear.

"Say 'I'm a little dumbass'. Say it, Darylina"

"No."

"Say it."

"No. You snore too loud, Merle."

"Say it or I stuff your god dammed toy dog up yer nose. Say it, say it, say it...you little fuck."

"Okay, okay. Damn, Merle."

"Say it, you little shit."

"I'm a little dumbass. You happy, Merle? You woke me up."

"Never poke me when I sleep; I'll rip yer head off next time, got it? Go back to sleep; it's the middle of the fuckin night."

"Merle, can I sleep with ya. I had a dream."

"You crazy boy? Yer a Dixon; man up. You need to grow a hide kid."

"Merle?"

"What, kid? Yer getting on my nerves."

"Night."

He turns and smiles, his blue eyes flashing and his curly hair standing on end.

"Night, ya little shit. Now get some fucking sleep. Goddamn kid."


	6. Null & Void

Bayonet

Null &amp; Void

Merle POV:

I dream I was flying around the prison watching Hershel, Daryl, Maggie, and the big new chick with juicy tits working on me; yanking on my handless arm broken, scarred, ugly and damn useless. How can something so useless hurt so damn much? I stopped watching when I woke up for a bit. I wonder if I had died a little while there. I started yelling and thrashing around while Daryl and Juicy Tits hold me trying to stop me from hurting myself worse. I'm actually almost crying from pain and fear (though I will never admit it) when they set my handless right arm. I hate it being touched, the stump still really fucking hurts at times. I watch as Daryl and Hershel work on me trying to put the pieces back together. I settle down and slip back into my dreams. My breathing eases and I become calm.

Daryl is 4; I'm almost 12, He is yanking on me to play with him pulling me to the woods by my right arm. I just wanna to go hunting; I'm looking for some nice squirrel or rabbit to overcome the lack of food from my useless dumb cracker parents. Against my better judgment I take him because I notice that he seems scared (what did the dumb kid do now). So I catch no squirrels but there is a rabbit in the trap. When I kill it putting it out of its misery Darlina has a fit, apparently the boy was hoping for a pet. That kid has to toughen up. I wish he wasn't so young but it's better than him loving the pet and having Daddy kill it just for the fun of seeing Daryl cry. He would do it to him too. He did it to me.

I'm 6 the kitten is standing next to my bed nibbling on my fingers of my left hand; those baby teeth are getting a bit sharp I think. Feels like needles to my fingers. I wonder what I can get the kitten to teethe on. That's the last night I had the kitten before daddy hung it in my room letting me come home to its cold dead little body and the smell of cat piss on my bed. Apparently it dared to rub up against him meowing when he was passed out. It was hungry, a kitten that my neighbor had given me for Christmas. The only Christmas gift I ever had. Somehow I never was much interested in the holidays after that.

I drift in and out of consciousness for a long time. I hear snatches of conversation some in Daryl's voice some in Hershel's, some in juicy tits' voice and oddly enough I hear children too. I'm becoming aware more and more of multiple layers of pain and restlessness all over my body; my ribs both left and right, my chest, my back, my arm, my remaining hand, my face. It especially hurts to breathe, and cough. I can't even consider lying on my back or on my right side (I hate lying on my left side with my handless arm on top). I can't remember when I hurt so badly so many places, to the point that I can't flip over on my own. Damn what a fucking pussy, weakling.

I feel hot so hot I'm dreaming that I'm chained outside in the hot summer sun again screaming on the roof, forced to break my own wrist demolishing the joint before sawing through my own flesh, tendons and nerves. I'm screaming until I'm hoarse and my throat burns up in fire, but this time the walkers get through the chained door and they eat me alive chewing both my hands off and ripping my throat out, and still I live to suffer and die alone, unable to shoot myself because my hands are gone, too helpless to end myself. Then gentle hands push my terror away, washing my dream away into the oblivion of sleep, wiping my face and body with something cool and calming, then somebody helps me drink something and I thankfully pass out again; Oh drugs wonderful drugs.

Then finally I drift back, as if Im struggling against waves. I've only swam in lakes but I've seen the ocean when I was a Marine briefly. Must a been outta my fucking mind. I should have known being in the military wouldn't set so well with me, as I get along with authority, not at all. Listening to all those dumbasses who think they are so much better n me. I showed that pussy; seeing him spit out those five teeth made it almost worth it. Again I'm getting off topic. (They must have me on really good stuff cus' I can't focus worth a shit).

I come to consciousness in waves and it's so strange. I keep hearing kids plenty of them. I hear Daryl off and on and Hershel, Beth, Juicy tits (guess I need to find out her name or I'll only think of her as juicy tits). Lots of coughing but far off.

I finally wake up and there she is just drying off pulling her shirt and bra up over her shoulders. I haven't given myself away yet. I narrow my eyes and hope other southern parts don't make themselves obvious. She is a fine sight. She is tall with broad shoulders, strong, but needs to lose some weight, long dark red hair; but looky here on her right kidney one hell of a scar looks like she was shot a long time ago and they didn't have time to make it pretty. She has a nice ass and long strong legs, strong looking arms and back. Not as old as me but not that young either, musta waited to have those kids.

She finishes putting her shirt back on. Boy she has some nice juicy tits not firm but not pancakes either but nicely formed the same. Her face ain't bad to look at either but she's done caught me now and looks none too happy with ole Merle. I smirk. "Heyyy there sweetness. You're one fine looking nursemaid if I do say myself. I'm already feelin' better. Ummhmm" She smirks, glaring at me.

"Really, Must you ogle me in front of my kids?! Your brother did say that you're a real asshole. Guess I shouldn't be surprised apparently it's just who you are. You would think you never saw a naked female before but I just know that's not true. Now that your done sizing up my tits and ass would you like to know my name or do you even care if I have one."

"Sorry sweetheart, I never miss a God-given opportunity to ogle not when you got such a juicy fat ass and nice tits." I say smirking just can't resist riling her up.

"WHAT THE FUCK are you deaf as well as plainly lacking some thinking skills. Did you get kicked in the head or are you a masochist. I said not in front of my fucking kids you dumb asshole" she is spitting angry. Damn I love messing with a hot-tempered woman. She is definitely a handful in all the right ways. Damn I gotta heal fast.

"By the way my name is SKYA."

She stomps off and plops down by her boy's cot. She rubs his back "sorry honey I know I shouldn't have sworn like that try to get some sleep. Yeah I'm glad he's doing better too. His brother will be happy. Then she starts tickling him. He giggles flips over and then settles in.

Another soft voice calls her "Momma what happened" nothing sweetie that man over there woke up and do you know he has a potty mouth almost as bad as Mommy. Yes honey I know I wasn't being fair. He's hurt and just waking up. I'll try to be nicer. Somehow it's hard now for me. Get some sleep. I need to go see what he needs." She kisses her and cuddles her some more.

She then glares at me and walks over without breaking her gaze and without a word. I can almost feel her snarl at me. She comes back just plops down in a chair next to me. Now in a tank top and short pants no shoes. Doesn't she feel the cold?

Just stares at me. Even slouches down so she can stare more effectively. She has a little smirk on her face. Not sure why she's smirking, but she doesn't say a word she just watches me watching her. Finally after several minutes she speaks.

"I just know you gotta be, feeling like shit, but did you get enough beauty rest.' I snort a laugh.

"Shit sweetheart there's not enough beauty sleep in the world to fix this old mug. But ole' Merle's got it where it counts. I jes' need a little rest that's all."

I cough and groan from the pain while I'm trying to laugh. God that hurts, that's why the smirk the wily vile bitch. I gotta admire her manipulating me; would have done something like that too.

"If you're going to laugh you might want to hold that small pillow to your chest. That usually helps with coughing and sneezing too. Before I get started try to stay off your right side. Most of the fractures are there if you roll over you'll wish you didn't"

I roll my eyes but I don't say anything

'Got some questions for me? Or should I start filling you in on what happened around here while you were out of it. Your call but if you're an asshole to me in front of those kids, I Will make you laugh again. Deal?" she smirks.

I try to sit up and face her better, but my ribs don't let me. "Hold it can we talk about . . . " Sweetheart I've a powerful need to piss I'm damned if I'm gonna do it here." She shoves something at me "urinal . . . use it" she starts to walk off. "Damn girlie will you let me get my head on straight. My hand is all bandaged can you . . ."

"You're going to have to get accustomed to managing a urinal before anything else. I'll hold the blanket up for you to place it"

Sheesh what's her damn problem. . . I'm the one who is hurt. "Damn that feels better", I sigh as I let the piss just pour out of me. How long was I sleeping anyway? She gestures impatiently at me, wrinkling her nose, "Give it here I'll empty it" she stalks off barefoot. I use the time to test what I can move and what's fucked up.

My legs seem fine just achy probably from being in bed from what I'm guessing to be a long time. My jaw is sore as is my eye but my vision is excellent as always. (Oh helloooo I'm under the covers with not one stitch on, naked as can be, not that nudity has ever bothered 'ole Merle, scars and all.) My left hand is bandaged and I'm beginning to remember the bastard biting two of my fingers off while we fought. If that's true this damn world just got a whole lot harder for ole Merle. While I consider my new lack of digits, she comes back calm. She sees my expression and watches me look at my hand. She gets a gentle look in her eyes and sits down next to me but looks away giving me a minute to get myself under control again. "What did you say your name is? I know you don't want me calling you juicy ... "Skya" she interrupts . . . I'm Skya Duncan.

"jeez what were your parents thinking strange name . . . did they want you to get beaten up?"

"Old family name I think. Scottish. . . . So what were your parents thinking with both of your names?"

"Old southern names . . . where ya from Yank . . ."

"Cuyahoga, Ohio in the snow belt."

"The what?"

"We get lots more snow than the rest of the area because of Lake Erie. I'm used to it. I loved going skiing and skating when I was little.

"You crazy?"

"Yep you guessed it, certifiable"

"You."

"Yep documented personality disorder."

"Lucky man."

"Not really."

"I know"

"And what do you think you know Juicy Tits"

" Well, I know I'm talking to a not so dumb redneck who wants to piss me off and make me dislike him. So much easier that way right? (She starts pacing. I'm beginning to think that she is moving whenever she is awake)" I know that you're loyal to your brother. You almost gave your life for him. You're brave even if you're an impulsive dumbass. You have a heart in there but you like to hide it as much as possible. You're damn stubborn and you have a sense of humor. You expect people to see you as a redneck stereotype and take advantage of them underestimating you. I won't make that mistake. I'm a direct person too, embarrassingly so. I also know all the rules that we used to know are null and void. So it is what it is."

I roll my eyes and smirk "must be some fuckin genius ya done got ole Merle here figured out . . . yeah right"

She shakes her head "whatever . . . I will just leave you to your own devices. I'm going to hang out with the rugrats"

"Did ya have somethin' to tell me . . . darlin?"

"Well if you plan to listen I was going to let you know about your wounds and the flu bug, but you obviously are not interested and I won't waste my breath if you don't give a shit. . ." she starts to turn away

"Hold on there I didn't mean nothin' go ahead and tell me what ya know."

She cocks her head and turns back clears her throat and begins to speak

"yeah whatever . . . You have lots of rib fractures 2 back and front around the bullet, cracked sternum, 2 more ribs on the left we think, your middle right lobe of your lung collapsed and needed to be reinflated, your right shoulder-blade is cracked where the bullet came through, your right upper arm bone the humerus was fractured and out of place. Needed to be reset, pretty nasty too. You know about your two fingers one bitten off above the middle knuckle, may get some use out of it to stabilize your grip but your little finger was taken off just above the lowest knuckle. They are healing well and the infection seems to have cleared. You were delirious for three weeks off and on. Daryl was here for much of that time and helped me take care of you, you would get up and walk to the bathroom and eat a little but never were really with it until now.

Since then we have a bad flu going around and myself, the babies, the little kids, Beth and you are here in isolation due to the nature of the illness attacking the lungs, you are here because your lung was damaged and is still healing. I'm here because I have problems with my lungs normally and the kids are more susceptible to this bug. Hershel thinks it's some weird strain of the swine flu. Daryl went on a run to get meds from the veterinary college. A lot of people have died in their cells and started attacking others. Quite a few were put down, 2 were murdered in cold blood as well, we don't know by who. It's been a busy three weeks."

"oooowee holy shit you ain't kidding. I was wonderin' why the first thing I saw when I woke was a toddler .. . Is she yours?"

"No. she belongs to all of us now. Sweet little thing. She pays a lot of attention to you. I can't imagine why. It must be your scintillating personality or cultured wit."

She says that with a smirk and a sarcastic glint in her eyes. I smirk back and start to laugh which , doubles me over in pain as my ribs, sore lung and hole in my chest and back, all holler at me, my world becoming black around the edges as the throbbing in my chest and back takes up the beat of my heart. She continues to speak ignoring me as I grunt and groan in pain, coughing up a small amount of dark thickened blood, wheezing like an old man.

" . . .the fuck?"

She paled "you will probably bring up clots for a while, Hershel tells me it's your body healing, especially if you stress it with laughing or moving about too much. Your lung needs to heal as much as your bones and your soft tissue injuries do".

I snort struggling back up to a near seated position snarled in my sheets. "So Juicy . . . uh I mean Skya, Is there a real reason I'm in this ole infested mattress bare-arsed as the day I were born or are you just liking the sights of the real man under the sheets, waiting for the moment you can jump my bones"

She snorts too "I see you are still delirious, maybe you need an antibiotic enema because I sure wouldn't want you to vomit, the way your ribs are bothering you."

I snort a laugh, groaning, coughing up more nasty ass old blood, in misery as Skya comes over to hold my shoulders as I twitch in agony.

I gasp out a question "So tell me your story, how did a Yankee get to be here with kids all alone?" She gets up and paces quickly "My family was visiting my sister-in-law and her family in the mountains near here. We were due to start driving back north in a couple of days but then the world collapsed. We started seeing these crazy news reports about cannibalism and how they can only be stopped by a head injury. I couldn't believe that it was real, but I found out all too soon that it was. I called my mom who was going to fly out to California to be with my sister until things stabilized. She had just gotten off the plane and met my sister. I called my sister the next day to ask that she stays there and to let her know that we were all right. That's the last I heard from either of them.

My husband's niece and nephew and their babies flew home the day before all the flights were cancelled. Lucky thing too. The day that my family died was at the end of an insomnia cycle that I go through with weather changes. I know when something is coming. My migraine saved my life that day when I went to take a nap during a meal. My husband and in-laws stayed outside while my kids were playing inside, being that they don't like the Georgia heat. I woke up to my kids running into my room screaming while the adults in my family were being torn apart by those monsters. I found a butcher knife and did what I needed to. I still can't believe I did that. But my kids and I survived at least" She stops her agitated pacing and stares out a nearby window, still and silent and far away in her thoughts, stifling silent sobs.

So many stories like that but unlike most she had the strength to survive.

"Shit girl that's a miserable story. I'm sorry to hear it"

"Thanks for saying that Merle"

She looks off into dusk for awhile, her shoulders moving "Crying won't bring them back ya know you gotta be strong for those little kids and teach them how to be tough in this goddamn awful world we got." She smirks and turns her profile to me "And to think Merle you almost showed an understanding side. How wrong I was. Get some more rest. I'll be alright".


	7. Mercy for the trapped dead

Mercy for the trapped dead

**Warning for Dixon lexicon, racist stereotypical Merlish nicknames, sexist attitudes (Merle again). I don't think the man knows how to be appropriate. He takes pride in having the balls to be radically inappropriate, but at the same time doesn't seem to be truly his values but more from habit and upbringing. We really didn't see as much of this side of him in season 3 as we did in season 1 (before he detoxed). Here he is flowing between dreams and reality and being pulled apart by both, not being able to tell between the two. PTSD for Merle means recurrent dreams and sleepwalking not so good when you're a hot mess of broken bones. Luckily Daryl knows how to handle the poor doofus. Obviously AMC owns everything but my OCs and storyline. Bummer.**

_"And to think Merle you almost showed an understanding side. How wrong I was. Get some more rest. I'll be alright, I'm not going anywhere". _

_I turn over moaning as my wounds settle and my exhaustion pulls me away before I can form another coherent thought, or a suitable comeback. I am captured by my dreams and dissolve into oblivion._

Too bad that oblivion is not a happy place. I am in a Gatling gun of repeating nightmares unable to turn the damn thing off, never running out of ammunition to torture myself worse than the Governor did. I dreamt that I am back with the Governor that fateful day where I impulsively shoved Michonne out of the old beater and – for fucks sake! That bitch can talk. I just needed some quiet. Now I'm continuing to Woodbury to take care of something on my own. I remembered collecting my little crowd of groupies snarling and trying to paw their way in through my window. Yeah right as if I would share my drink with them- find your own. godamn rotten pussy whipped assholes. The heat inside the car was fuckin unbearable; didn't exactly help the smell of the dead bastards outside.

I'm gonna do something I don't usually do but those damn scars on my baby brother haunt my days and nights. He's right I knew and I hid from my own damn self all these years. I knew Daryl was the sweet one I always said as much. I shoulda figured out the rest. I should have come back and taken him the hell out of there. Maybe he would have had a fucking chance to have the life he deserved maybe even make something of himself. Maybe if I had raised him the right way, I would have had a worthwhile life too not full of drugs, regrets and prison, when I wasn't drifting from mechanic job to construction job. My whole life just a thousand Maybes and I never lived up to any of them. Now I've just done run out of maybes or chances.

I inched the car closer and I can feel the welcome burn of the drink rolling down my throat, the pounding of the music through my chest, keeping time with my metal covered stump. I gotta make my last moments that I can be sure of count, just in case I don't get to celebrate the death of the fucking Governor. I force myself to enjoy it, being that it may be my last. I know from the military that you look death in the eye when you're a sharpshooter. At least you can choose your way and it should not be me lying in a bed somewhere coughing my lungs up and groaning in pain like an old man who can't even get up and take a piss by himself.

I let the car roll on without me; rolling out unnoticed when the time is right; spouting rock and roll laughing about the lack of drugs and sex. I make my entrance like the silent ghost that I very likely will be soon. I breathe deep –this is for you babybro, for once you get the thing you should have. I know you want yer brother back but I'm too old to learn and not worth the effort, even I'm smart enough to know that.

I watch myself as one already dead. I separate from my aging damaged body and soar trying to leave and too curious to actually go. I watch me as I skulk into the old granary taking up position to kill as many as I can in the confusion. Get em-get em-get em, one after another they go down. They're maybe not lethal shots but the damn stupid walkers will answer the dinner bell of gunfire. They can be counted on for tucking into the human buffet I so kindly provided. I watch as the last second away from victory it all comes apart as my shot hits the wrong target and the walker sneaks up and forces me out of hiding.

I wince as I watch myself kicked in the head and face, my fingers stomped on, my ribs and gut bruised by the men I slaughtered people with, so many. I see myself strangled and dragged away by the crazy ass Cyclops faced governor his features mutilated by rage and crazed delusions. I hone in on the battle inside I see myself choked, overpowered, disoriented, my arm broken against what I had leaned on to regain my breath. My fingers bitten off rendering my remaining hand useless; now too weak to fight he lowers the gun at me as I tell him that I refuse to beg; a stubborn ass to the end.

"I ain't begging you" he lines up his mark with the center of my furiously beating desperate heart, knowing now I will never see my little brother again.

"NO"

I feel the bullet rip through my chest destroying my heart and lungs. I lie in a crumpled heap, bleeding out suffocating, feeling the approaching cold creep into my limbs as the blood pours out of my body, my heart and lungs slowing and finally stopping, my eyes clouding over as death comes for me. He watches me as though interested in seeing my spark leave. He kicks me once more in the face, spits on my destroyed body and walks away, not caring that I will turn.

My consciousness rolls out like waves, responding to the growing pool of blood underneath me. The light fades to a point as my spirit roars out of me laughing with the irony only to strangle on its leash and be yanked back into my body. I feel the walker inside getting ready to start the transformation. The time bomb of virus that resides in every human (just ready to make us ravenous cannibalistic nasty ass monsters) reaches its critical threshold before turning my body into a walker "Oh no asshole you ain't done by far" the virus purrs evilly "welcome to hell ya bastard. You know you deserve every bit of this".

The inner walker twitches, lightning fire playing up through my spine over my broken bones, my missing hand, my mutilated fingers. Twitch twitch. Then I lay quiet for a long time as the dust settles, my blood congeals inside and out. My bladder voids and my bowels move returning my last meal to the world (like anyone really needs that back). My spirit now separated but trapped beats its useless hands against the prison of my own skull – only in death I finally have two hands and all my fingers again, whole again except for the fact that I now lack a body.

My spirit shakes his head and mumbles "Shit I just can't ever win, have such bad luck if I fell into a ball pit of fake titties (because even in a hellacious death dream I'm still a boob man) I would come up sucking my thumb"

My body lies there for a couple of hours twitching here and there as the virus spreads engulfing me finally pushing me out into the world. My spirit is still attached to my body by invisible unbreakable bounds. I watch as my pathetic mindless corpse bumps around in the closed room like a bumblebee in a bottle getting angrier by the second; growling and moaning, finally tumbling out when bumped up against the door. I watch as I amble from corpse to corpse; tucking in like its Christmas dinner. I'm pulled along by unseverable bond and I try to stop my useless body by beating invisibly on its head and back trying to pull me away from the body of that stupid kid. I bury my face in his remaining heat and the juices of recent life are dripping on my chin and off my remaining damaged hand. I hear feet coming in my direction sure and quick, I look up to see my brother before me, but my corpse only registers the movement of fresh tantalizing meat, as I drool already feeling the juices of his life in my mouth.

I attack him as his face falls to pieces. He pushes me away as my spirit echoes his heartbreaking cries as he pushes my corpse again and again. My spirit barrels into my corpse screaming "Oh no no fuck no. please kill me end me end me bro".

My hell circles around and is complete as I'm about to eat my baby brother. He was the only person that never gave up on me; no matter how worthless I was as a brother. He finally jumps on me with his knife burying it again and again in my face stabbing as needles of pain and relief explode in my head and face.

I roar away from my corpse finally free to join the whatnot in the hereafter to see if the Bible has it right. I pull myself up short hearing throat tearing screams of my brother. He has collapsed next to my useless ruined corpse, stinking of shit, vomit and rot. I go to him sitting next to him; running my hands up his bare arms causing him to shiver; kissing him on the forehead like I haven't done since he was newborn and I at 8 fell in love for the first and only time in my life.

"Bye baby brother you were the sweet one sorry I couldn't be saved but I couldn't go back and face all of that hate"

He pushes me stabs me once more and the needles pull again at my face. The explosion of light tears my eyes open with the belated return of consciousness as I wake up from the world's ugliest night terror. I hope I can stay up for the rest of the freaking week. Holy fucking shit!

"Merle you're a fucking idiot wake the hell up you asshole" grumbled Daryl as I fight to push him off of me as my broken bones grind and crunch with the movement.

I blink again finally escaping from the unholy hell of my worst ever dream. Awareness of reality returns and I'm being held down while my face is being stitched. I roar into full wakefulness with a needle stabbing my cheek narrowly missing my eye.

"Hold him dammit he's going to hurt himself" barks the Woodbury Doc who is poking my face with a needle. I'm screaming and fighting my brother who is holding me for Dr. Gandhi.

"Godammit I'm awake you fucks-get yer hands off me" I fight to get up from being restrained

They let me go for a moment. I roll up to a seated position with their help; my ribs, arm, and back beating a drum in time with the pin pricks stitching my nose and cheek together yet again.

I look around and reorient myself seeing my brother, Juicy Tits, Dr Gandhi from Woodbury-when did he get here?

"The hell y'all doing to me?"

"You tried to sleepwalk and smashed your face like yer usual dumbassed self- Damn you're strong for fucked up cripple", growls Daryl rubbing his face and arm where I grabbed and hit him. I snort in self deprecating humor. My brother is the only one who could get away with saying that. Anyone else and I would knock their head off.

Dr. Gandhi's face comes back into view. Never could pronounce his damn name even when he was fixing my arm after I cut it off and it got infected.

"Nice to see you again Merle, it seems you were dreaming"

"Yeah just a little. Dreamt that I got shot" I say as I roll my stiff painful shoulders and neck.

"We had to open your wounds up and drain the infection a couple of days ago. Then you started getting more alert but now you've also been trying to get up on your own and falling out of bed. You've been down for two or three weeks now and you've only been moving around for a couple of days." Says the good Doc. S_? (I think his damn name begins with an S). Nope still can't remember it. I've always been terrible with names; that's why I give nicknames. For some reason most people don't seem to like my nick names. Heh. Guess truth hurts. Whatever!

"Merle. Have you heard even one thing I've told you?" Dr. S's voice punctuates my half awake musing. "I just don't know why I bother. I should expect you to zone out when I'm trying to help you. You always heal in spite of yourself; just like you did in Woodbury. I'm glad you're awake but just listen to me once. Get some help when you want to get up. We don't need you breaking anything else"

Damn Doc just can't help lecturing. I'm surprised anyone listens to him, jacked up pussified know it all. He wouldn't survive a pitiful hour outside of these walls.

"Shit. Do I look like a pussy ass cripple to ya? I can walk on my own fuck ya very much".

I saw them setting up an IV getting ready to stab me with another damn needle. Shit!

"I don't do that shit no more. Y'all need to keep the fuckin needles away to yerselves unless ya got something a little more fun, make better use of my time in here being gimpy. And here I've been clean almost a year"

"Ya need it bro Daryl grumbles at me as his face comes into view. "This is an antibiotic not dope and your back is an infected pile a shit that will never heal, maggots or no maggots"

"The fuck ya say, son?" I grab him with my bandaged hand yanking him close enough to smell his sour breath as juicy Tits comes back into view and sits next to me on the cot as I shift over enjoying her warmth.

"We put maggots in your back to clean out the dead tissue so we can save as much of your skin and muscles as we can. But you need the antibiotics too Merle". Juicy Tits is at least more interesting to listen to as her scent of female musk/sweat, percolates in my fever ripe consciousness, making me hungry for sex.

Daryl finally loses patience, knowing my shark like leer all too well and leans over nose to nose again bathing me in his stinky breath. If he smelled better I would lick him just to royally piss him off, like I did when he was a teenager. Messing with him used to be my favorite hobby.

"Y'all are too nice. Just tell him to calm the fuck down before I get Tyreese in here to help me sit on him like a prison bitch with a stretched asshole." Daryl continues, his face turning red

"Ya little punk if I weren't fucked up I'd flatten you son and give you a few stitches of my own. Y'all wouldn't have lasted in here one fucking day. The hell is wrong with you anyway that's not shit to joke about. I had to work hard to keep my asshole from getting stretched, except for a hellacious turd of course." I chuckle in the joy of crude humor.

Skya shivers in disgust her forehead rumpling as she retreats off of my bed as if propelled by a viscous smell. "Oh gross Merle I don't need that image etched on my eyelids. What the hell? Are you guys seriously only acting as if you are 14 years old and you both with gray in your beards?" Juicy Tits goes greenish under her freckles I snort to myself, happy at teasing and offending another of my well-meaning irritants.

"1-2-3 and pinch. I look up at Doc. Gandhi smiling as he finishes hooking up a tube into my useless arm as the coldness of the antibiotic drips into my veins and makes me relaxed and drowsy. It's true that I'm massively screwed up; my body the most damaged it's ever been. I need the rest, but I don't like to be weak with an audience.

"Ok you can let the dumbass be I'm done stitching and setting up the meds. Thanks Daryl, Skya for distracting him. It worked like a charm".

The annoying voices fade yet again; I curl up like an oyster in its shell and 3-2-1. I'm taken away by an insistent ocean tide of dreams as my breath becomes rhythmic and I hear my own distant snores, as I sail away into calming dreams of the mountain streams and whispering forests of my youth. Daryl covers my broken carcass up and smoothes my long annoyingly curly hair, resting his hand gently next to my damaged cheek as I sigh contentedly. "Get some rest, ya old aggravating shit. Glad yer gonna live despite yer own stubborn cusspot self".


	8. Sailing the Seas of Angst

**Merle vs. governor but plans goes awry and so does a certain bullet. I used 1****st**** person crazy head space with filthy language, racial slurs and disrespecting women. In other words, the Merle we love and love to hate. Merle and all other characters from TWD are not owned by me but by AMC. The OC is owned by me (much good it will do me). Much of this will be a character study and it all will be 1****st**** person study from multiple characters point of view. I will try to keep it canon but much of it will be behind the scenes that we know best. Slight alterations will occur due to ramifications of that certain bullet going astray and our favorite anti-hero actually was having some luck for once. **

**This chapter is meant to be more of a flow of Merle's thoughts than an organized progression of the story (I promise that will come later). Now that he's finally conscious he needs to consider his situation. The poor doofus just woke up and can barely move because of multiple significant injuries. He has a new chest piercing (all they way through), that he had not planned on. Both arms are compromised in different ways that cause his usual method of compensation impossible. What's a guy to do? . . . umm sulk and brood. Oh yeah, he has absolutely no energy so he sleeps a lot and really wishes he could stop dreaming and get some healing rest. Poor guy. he just wants to be left alone. He can't even leave himself alone. Jeez, He just needs a break already (or nine). **

**Please review so I know what I'm doing right. I love to write, Merle just jumps onto the computer screen and takes over. He almost types as poorly as I do. But he just flows onto the page; sometimes takes a bit of rearranging to state clearly what he is thinking. So let me know if you like this style. For some reason 1st person lends itself best to my thinking style. I have always liked to be told a story. Merle just wont shut the hell up. I've always had a soft spot for smartasses. But seriously I need some reviews to feel some love and learn how to write better. This is new for me and I am aware that it is obvious. THANK YOU ;-)**

Merle's POV

Skya gets up and goes to help Beth with the kids as I stare up at the ceiling thinking some gloomy fuckin' thoughts even for 'ole Merle. I don' need Skya, Daryl or anyone seeing me as soft, but I ain't never been this badly fucked up before and it's going to take time for me to heal. What is messing with my head the most is that I can't go back to the way I was. After my bones knit and the lung and soft tissue wounds heal. After the wounds become the newest additions to my massive collection of scar tissue. After I cease to cough shit up like an old man, I will still have no right hand and have to rely on a mangled left hand that is missing two fingers. So two months from now or two years from now if I continue my redneck excuse for a life, I will still have more mangled stubs than useful digits.

I still will have to defend myself and look like everything is relatively normal, and I will have it no other way. I'm a survivor goddammit. I do not want to look like a target in this fucked up brutal excuse for a world. Because I know how brutal men think. I after all am one. I would do everything in my power to take advantage of a crip like me (I can barely even form those thoughts in my head). On the other hand, (yeah right), I can use being underestimated to my advantage. I've been looked at as a stupid worthless redneck all of my life, by teachers, law enforcement, military superiors and even my family.

So now I'll be seen as the crip with barely any digits and unable to defend himself (not if I have anything to say about that). I can't go back just as I told the Nubian queen, but maybe I can move forward and figure out some way around this fuckin' mess. I'm smart enough sure as shit; but am I tolerant enough. A patient man I am not! What scares the ever-living shit out of me is that I have to protect my remaining digits from any other injuries. I lose any more fingers and I truly will be a cripple in every sense of the word and I will choose between having to accept help for many things or eating a bullet

As I consider everything I grunt and moan and finally get myself to my current normal hunched over sitting position. I need to move as much as I can. I start gradually straightening my abdomen bit by bit, almost the piece by piece movement of a rollercoaster car at the carnival that Daryl and I used to sneak into every year. I lean on my hand and try to hold myself upright as a sheen of sweat bathes my body and drips from my face. Plus it feels like I've got shattered glass in my lung as if my body cries its own broken tears against the stupidity that I showed in desperately taking on the governor for Daryl's sake.

The ironic thing is that it worked; three days after Daryl, Hershel, Maggie and Skya repaired my injuries to the best of their ability; they loaded me back into the same car I nearly died in along with the smallest kids. They hid us out in the woods while the governor and his unwilling untrained army attacked my new home. I of course was insensible in the land of dreams.

It will be awhile before I can lift more than myself off the bed. In fact getting myself dressed, eating, even just flipping over in bed is going to be one hell of a challenge in itself. In fact I have so many broken bones its damn near impossible for me to find a good position to sleep, or even to turn over in bed. I ease myself to my side (grunting trying to not be obvious how bad I hurt) where the pain isn't awful and watch she and Beth play with the kids and babies for a while.

I truly hate the helplessness that lying on my left side causes, I can only grip with my left and yet I'm lying on it. I can't even throw the blanket over my ass without some painful maneuvering using my right foot to hook the blanket and toss it up to my arm where I pin it with the mangled remains of my right wrist, then I finally have it in position to grab it with my remaining stubby paw. I almost would have an easier time rolling over grabbing the fucking blanket and rolling back but Im so painful and loud that juicy tits or Daryl if he's around, will come to investigate not realizing that I don't require company. Sheesh, I'm a cranky fuck when I'm recovering from injuries; much worse than my usual cranky demeanor. I try to sleep, hoping to sleep without the usual horrifying nightmares. I drift away to the harness of my dreams.

I sleep.

I dream.

Daryl is 1 I'm 9 he is learning to walk Momma was watching him play and I come home to her sitting on the porch with wine, smokes, blocks, a stuffed dog (he loved that thing and took it everywhere). She was a quarter Cherokee, and when she sat in the sun got the most beautiful tan, I inherited our Daddy's Irish features and coloring with annoying curly hair (I keep it cropped) and tendency to grey prematurely. At least I got the taller stronger build. Daryl looks more like our Mother with his Cherokee features, tall, lanky build, and tendency to tan. We both have Daddy's angry blue eyes and hotheaded nature. Momma and I watched Daryl's baby antics for a while and then I napped. He woke me by patting me on the face with his sticky baby hands.

Momma smiled and said "he trusts his big brother. You know brothers can have a special bond, deepened by the blood they share. You look out for him now and he will look out for you when he is old enough. You're more like your Daddy and he is more like me. You can choose to be as your Daddy used to be before the drink and the fighting destroyed him, I hope you will never let his anger destroy you.

Your brother is going to need you to protect him and teach him what grandpa taught you about hunting and tracking, so if he needs to he can come to the woods to be safe. I can't stop the hittin' especially since you and Daddy provoke each other. I'm sorry honey life is hard for us all. You have to be strong and never let him see your fear or he will act like a junkyard dog"

I woke to a toddler patting my face with her sticky hands. I smiled at her and said "boo" she giggled and fell down on her diaper thick butt. "Where is your momma sweetheart? Dontcha know that people think that ole Merle likes to eat babies for breakfast? Nom Nom Nom!" I laugh with her. People don't know that I practically raised my baby brother; especially after Momma died while smoking in bed. I'm still good with little kids but no one seems to trust me around them. I guess I don't look so scary right now curled up in bed covered in bandages, barely able to move, without "little merle" protecting &amp; weaponising my mutilated arm.

Well I gotta toughen up and start moving sometime, I groan, roll to my left and realize how bad my right side hurts when I try to push myself with my broken arm. I suck air for a little and then manage to sit up leaning on my sore left hand. Just one hot mess all over. The little girl says Boo boo? I smile at her, "yes honey I've got a boo boo but I'm better".

Skya sees me and marches over smiling but has a wry look in her eyes. "Looking better, I see" I reach for my head to itch, and Damn my hair got long, I can feel tangled curly hair at least 3 inches long. "Oh I doubt it, feels like I've got some wool on the ole dome here" – hey I know I'm fucked up to look at. I've played hard and fast and it shows, but it never matters to the ladies because I'm good in bed and I'm intimidating as fuck when I want to be, and I can laugh. She cocks her head like a bird considering what she sees "so what's first? Food or nature's call"

I snort with the humping mental image, and groan with Pain from my chest and ribs. "Serves you right dirty mind" she laughs. "Juicy tits" (I begin) "you can't even begin to fully imagine . . .jes wait till I'm better then I'll make it worth your while umm hmm but now it's time to drain the weasel" she comes over and starts to help me up. I push her away "Nah let me try it first." I lean forward and try to get to my feet &amp; get up halfway but my knees buckle &amp; I sit down hard. "Alright you can help me up" she wraps her arm around my waist and helps me steady myself after boosting me.

"Merle just wait a minute get your bearings. Better?" Okay take it slow. You've been out for a while" Okay I'm trying to be patient but I don't like needing help so I channel the smartass "alright juicytits I'll let you know when I need you. I don' plan on taking orders" . . . and the room spins I sag against her. I nearly vomit &amp; all I can hear is the beating of my heart in time with the throbbing of my back and arm. She's strong and holds me steady until my vision clears. "Hey asshole next time I'll let you taste concrete. Now let's get you to the bathroom so you can as you so subtlety put it can 'drain the weasel' ". I look at her and smile I hafta say she has a certain take-no-shit style that I won't admit I admire.

She gets me there and I'm able to do the deed leaning against the wall like a pussy the whole time. Even I hafta admit I'm really off-balance because my useless broken arm is strapped to my side. Damn this sucks. Woulda been much easier to die than feel like this. I have never needed help afore I don't plan to now. I just have to be smarter to figger out how I can work things with my remaining hand mangled and my arm outta commission. My hand hurts like hell when I have to manage my boxers and pull myself out to piss. Out comes groans I can't control &amp; a nonstop stream of creative cussin', putting me in a really shitty mood. Knowing I need her at least for now I wisely (for once) shut the fuck up. Just as wisely she doesn't comment on all the groaning and swearing she heard. She uneventfully leads me back to bed and helps me ease myself in. gets me some pain meds and I am out like a light.

I wake &amp; smell good smells but more interesting are the sounds. I hear rubbing sounds. I look around and see Skya rubbing her back on the side of door with a big grimace on her face. Up and down up and down she really put energy in it too. She looks like she is in pain, I didn't notice but she must be sick or injured too. She groans and sees me watching her. "You alright girl? You hurt too?" I ask her.

"What? Oh no that's not it. No I just was trying to stretch my lower back." I have a medical condition that I have to keep on top of stretching sometimes helps. No worries" she smiles. What the hell? But she's not saying any more. I groan and gingerly sit up and she lets me struggle up myself. I sit up and look at her, asking "hey anything to eat? I feel like I ain't eaten in awhile." She smiles and hands me a plate. "Want to eat in bed or in a chair where your back has some support? I hand my plate back and look for the chair. " Ya-huh sounds like a plan" then I get up she moves to my right "hold on lemme try fer myself. I gotta get used to this shit" I stop before moving I learned from last time to expect dizziness at first. This time I don't pass out like a pussy. "I'm okay." I make my way slowly and painfully over to the chair. I groan while I'm sitting down. "Sheeeit. Alrighty I'm ready".

She drags a table over and puts the plate on it to my left. Now it's time to try my mangled hand out for the first time with food. She's given me potatoes, stewed tomatoes, and some kinda meat. I lift it and smell ahhh venison. "Your brother came back last night brought down a small buck, sat up the night with you but didn't want to wake you. He says you normally aren't much of a sleeper so we should let you sleep as much as you can. He found the meds for the flu victims. So we should be out of isolation in a couple of weeks more."

I notice a whole bunch of kids and Beth all looking at me while they are eating. "So how many are yours? I ask. "Two are my children Mya and Liam come meet Merle" I see a tallish boy and a little towhead girl come forward. "He is almost 11 she's going to be 8". I grunt, I'm best with little kids before they can talk back.

"foods good" I say. My hand is throbbing and the bandages around my new finger stubs make me even clumsier. She must have realized how hard it was going to be and cut my food up in small bites that a clumsy off-handed person could manage if they were drunk. Therefore I can do it too, spilling only a little. She watches but says nothing as I struggle to manage. I put the food down for a while to rest my hand which is pulsing with my heartbeat but at least is taking some of the pain away from my gunshot wounds.

She wanders off and sits down at the table with a bunch of kids and Beth the old man's daughter. She smiles and laughs with Beth, and helps the baby eat his mush, the toddler girl who woke me is spilling the milk and she wipes it up patting her on the head. Her girl and boy sit on opposite sides of her. I observe her (and her two kids watch me with similar curiosity – I smirk, they smile). She has long reddish-brown hair straight and shiny nearly down to her butt. She is quite tall, taller than most women I've been with. She is busty and curvy, could lose some weight, but I like a little cushion, not young but younger than I am. Definitely to my liking even if she is a little too tall.

She has a strong build. I know for a fact she is strong because she kept me on my feet when I started to fall. She starts in on her own food left-handed; time to time she rubs her right hip with her hand as if it hurts. Interesting. She wears a tank top with jeans and is barefoot. Odd. Her hair is pulled back in some sort of clip. I would love to put my face in her hair and nip her neck squeeze her nice tits, ummm. Gotta stop this before I get too aroused. I can't even whack off yet. Damn I hate being a crip. My hand is still pretty sore and given how my wrist stump healed it will be awhile before I'm without pain... So I need to slow down. Merle this is the first time you've been out of bed without assistance in how long I don't even know, I remind myself. But the privacy to ogle her is nice.

I get up gingerly on my own and wait until my body creaks into the right position, then I slowly head back to bed. I make it all by myself and am lying down when I groan "oh fuck me". I lay down fully on my right arm end up rolling hard onto the exit wound on my back. And now I'm seeing stars, and pulsing with pain. Skya comes over and sits next to me, putting her hand on my forehead. "Merle think. You're out of bed one day and if you fell on hard concrete you could open up your stitches or rebreak some of your healing bones. Shush let me finish before you say something shitty. If you reinjure yourself you get to have help for longer which you so obviously hate. And I don't blame you for by the way. I always hated people helping me with personal stuff too. I will be more than happy when you can do for yourself so I no longer have the kids learning all sorts of wonderful southern cussing from you. I prefer them to cuss like northerners by the way".

I clutch my side as I let out a snort. Damn the girl has my sense of humor down. Laughing hurts more than anything else right now. "Shit girl you definitely know how to get me back. I'm gonna have a reckoning with you when I'm better" She smiles "Merle I look forward to it. You know I do". She walks away and leaves me to think. I am lost in my thoughts before I realize how masterfully she manipulated me into forgetting to be angry with her. Now that's usually how I get people to lower their guard. Sometimes humor is a very effective weapon to manipulate and to outthink your opponent. Not yet sure if she sees me as an opponent. But fucked up as I am I can't afford to lower my guard around her. I watch her play with the kids for a while and then she curls up on a mattress near my bed and starts reading a book with a smile on her face. I get comfortable and I sleep (again!).

**Wow monster chapter! There will be more character interaction and gradually more physicality as Merle feels better and can be more dynamic. He will be back to being a crazy, pain in the butt, asshat with the morals of a junkyard roach and humor of a looneytunes crypt critter. Enjoy (umm sorry I've had too much caffeine and too little sleep. I'm a bit over the top tonight. The time change always messes with my sleep pattern even for an mild insomniac.**


	9. Corpseflower & a Big Bad Itch

****Merle vs. governor but plans goes awry and so does a certain bullet. The rest of the story deals with the repercussions. How does he move on from this. Does he survive the asskicking he will get from Daryl. Read and see. I used 1****st**** person crazy head space with filthy language, racial slurs and disrespecting women. In other words, the Merle we love and love to hate. Merle and all other characters from TWD are not owned by me but by AMC. The OC is owned by me (much good it will do me). Much of this will be a character study and it all will be 1****st**** person study from multiple characters point of view. I will try to keep it canon but much of it will be behind the scenes that we know best. Slight alterations will occur due to ramifications of that certain bullet going astray and our favorite anti-hero actually was having some luck for once. ****

**Chapter notes: Merle's subconscious is getting kind of crowded with a new OC and dream sequence. He is feeling better and healing therefore he is starting to get more restless and some of his quirks are beginning to come back to the surface. He's still Merle but this is changing him. I don't believe in what you find in some of the fan fics. That a badass character wounded than saved is going to turn around completely. He is however being forced to think things through for stinking once. I've thought that Merle is quite bright the way he gets in people's brains. Too bad TWD didn't explore that side of him. Even a loose cannon has to be built. Also ( ) indicates that he is talking to himself silently. Thanks for reading people ****J review review review TY. **

Corpse Flower &amp; the Big Bad Itch

Merle's dream POV

Humming, I hear a rocking chair creaking, just like one that we had when I was little, before Daddy lost his job, before Mommy turned drunk, before Daryl arrived. I can barely remember anything from then. My early life is a mystery to me. I've forgotten what my Momma looked like when she was still pretty before her skin turned yellow, before her eyes were glassy and before she smelled like old smoke. But there she is, next to me, humming to me under her breath rocking.

I'm 7, her tummy is just starting to round with Daryl. She has shiny long dark brown hair down to her waist and soft tan skin, high cheekbones and long lean limbs, showing her quarter Cherokee ancestry. She was almost as tall as Daddy. Daryl and I have our height from her. She has bags under her eyes from staying up with me. I'm sick. She pats my face and strokes my back. "Sorry you're feeling poorly sweetie". I sit up in my dream and suddenly I'm grown up and as injured as I am now. She continues "you were always such a sweet little boy and wonderful big brother. I'm so sorry things were so bad when you and Daryl were little. I'm so sorry I didn't protect you and that I died so suddenly".

I'm dreaming I know I am but fuck me sideways it's so vivid.

"Honey I was sick, to the bottom of my heart and soul. I can't say anything that will change the past or make anything better for you. I know you were tormented by Daddy, and you were too young to raise Daryl. You should have never been put in the position where you had to protect your little brother from your own Daddy. You both have so many scars on you both but the worst ones are on your souls. This Merle against the world attitude has to stop. DO you HEAR me clearly, my son?

Daryl needs you here with him. You have lost each other for so many years &amp; you have been angry and lost for so long. It's time for you to be strong in a whole different way. Not just assume people are worthless. Everybody has a story son. Just like you hate to be judged on what others assume you are. There is far more to you than meets the eye. But Daryl is right you can't do without people especially in the world of the Dead. Take it from one who knows all too well."

I speak to her afraid she will leave again "Momma why didn't you take us away from him when he started beating me, when he burned me like he did. I was only 4, why didn't the police ever help, or better yet take us to another town, where we would have a chance and not be judged by our name." why the hell did you start getting drunk and leave an innocent kid to fix the mess you made, and worse expect me to be a parent to Daryl when I needed a parent myself. What the fuck could I have possibly done wrong to deserve any of this? What kind of fucking justice was that? And yet you want me to listen now?"

What about me abandoned on a roof sawing my fucking hand off. What about me in the brig 16 months alone. What about me fighting in Grenada and being shot through my side. I could have used your fuckin' support then even as a ghost. She turns back half her face decayed. "Im a ghost who loves you; I can't change the past; who knows son? Is it the chicken or the egg; or was it the dinosaur all along. Hear me son? When you doubt as you will, remember the chicken and the dinosaur quote. That's my creation; who else would know it. Please don't forget to learn my son, you can be a prick; just don't hurt the little fuckers anymore. And discuss shit with them before you go and do something dumbass. I look again and really look. My mother has turned into Daryl."

Merle POV awake

I wake from the most real seeming damn dream I've ever had. I have started to sleepwalk again (SHIT) but I'm too weak to make it very far. I'm sitting on the floor below the bar covered window, not knowing how I got here, not knowing if I can get back up on my own, but the night air and night sounds far above me is slightly relaxing. I have a lot to fuckin' consider. It's the middle of the night. I hear her again, Skya rubbing her back yet again. She's gonna go and take her own hide off the way she's rubbing at it. That damn rubbing again up &amp; down up &amp; down on the fucking door of the closet facing away from me. What the hell is wrong with that bitch? I watch her silently. Always her right side and hip and always with a look of pain and concentration on her face. Somthin' she's hiding. I notice that its late at night and all the kids are sacked out two to a bed or crib.

Speaking of which I ITCH horribly, my back my chest and worse of all my fuckin' finger stubs; must be healing. Watching her makes me want to rub my healing wounds on my back and my chest. I know better, having had to treat our wounds from my fucking daddy beating the shit outta me and Daryl for no reason other than he was a drug and alcohol infested psychopath. When yer skin is on the mend it itches worse than poison oak.

I try to distract myself by attempting to get up from my sitting position; having wisely stayed silent until now. I find a piece of bandage to bite on and push onto my knees and supporting with my chewed up hand.

(Damn governor).

Now all I have to do is push into the wall on my right and slide up using the strength of my legs.

(Okay Merle you cracker fuck. MOVE yer ASS BOY)

I start pushing up with my strong legs sliding along my broken arm to a standing position.

(SHIT-THAT-HURTS).

I finally end up leaning my right shoulder against the wall breathing like I was outrunning the cops. Always was a good runner, helps to be tall and lean but strong. I'm also completely dizzy; the idea that I will have to ask for help is more painful than my injuries.

(FUCK).

While she is busy. I start assessing myself. I now obviously am moving around better being that I went for a walk tonight

(Too bad I wasn't awake; I might have enjoyed the accomplishment).

So my chest and back ribs and arm are healing. My back still hurts worse than anything and I have to work hard at sitting/standing up straight. My back muscles will take a lot of work before I can. I'm short of breath but not worse than when I get some bad weed. I still feel like I have glass in my lung but much better and easier to breath as long as it's not too deep.

My right arm is in a sling and it is tied around my middle for less movement. I've had a broken arm before I know the drill. Damn frustrating. I think the break is pretty bad from the amount of pain that still hits in waves when I move too quickly. It's harder to rehab an arm when you have no hand to use. It took me awhile to strengthen up when I cut my damn hand off; now I've done gone &amp; injured it again. It will be a LONG time before I can lift that bayonet or even think about the metal cuff, much less throwing a stump punch (inner sigh).

Even though there ain't no hand there I am still and will always be a righty. I still try to use it and worst of all I still want to sleep with it behind my head. So being in a grumpy mood I do what comes naturally.

Find someone to annoy (Yep I expect I can do that)

"Hey there juicytits. Ya tryin' to rub a hole in the damn wall. What the fuck is wrong with you girl."

(I'm dizzy and stranded please help me get back to bed)

She glares into the dark

"Stop calling me juicytits you prick besides it's none your damn business, asshole redneck. I just need to stretch, being that I can't reach my itch this is the best way. When I lift more, I need more of a stretch". Then she turns and looks at me or so she thinks

" . . .SHIT". Then she stares not finding me in bed as expected.

I snort "over here, I thought I would take a little walk maybe try some pushups or lift some weights. Yep gotta get stronger"

(I'm sleepwalking again. I do that sometimes &amp; never know when. Help!)

She comes over to me in a concerned huff, ready to tear me a new one and stops short seeing something in my face, raises eyebrow at me.

" . . . The fuck? (Such a lady)"

"jus needed some fresh air"

"dumb ass you TRYING to fall and reinjure yourself? I love your determination but to you really think you need to taste concrete in the middle of the night?

"I hate everyone watching me looking at me like I'm a gimp. I like to do this in privacy sometimes. I mean obviously I've been injured before. I'm a good judge of my abilities even though I don' seem like it. Oh yeah sometimes I sleepwalk"

(Holy shit I'm being so honest. I must be really fuckin' tired)

"Yer damn rubbing got me moving too. I used to wake up itchy when I was a kid and had sore spots healing. Id sleepwalk and end up near a window jus' staring' out smelling the air usually calmed me and woke me. Once I woke up in the yard starkus nekkid with my old neighbor lady hitting me with a broom her hair pinned up wearing a too short house coat. Woulda been damn funny if my daddy didn't get ahold of me shortly after".

I allow her to put her arm around my sore right side and guide me back to bed farther than I thought. I groaned into a sitting position rubbing my own back very gently.

"Darlin' whatcha rubbin at anyway? New kind of clap?" I snort

"Darn it Merle you already seen it you just don't remember" She yanks her shirt up and there peeping over her sweats is one of the ugliest scars I've ever seen (and that's saying something it just looks wrong on her pretty freckled skin). Thick and twisted and deep to the bone. Right over her right hip and kidney.

"Sheeeit girl what the hell did you go and do to yerself. You've had that a while huh".

It's the mark I saw when I first woke. A mark that had to be fixed quickly before she bled out and they didn't have time to fix it right or make it pretty. From the looks of it at least ten years old. I touch it and feel how bound up the skin is and how tight it's getting.

"I was shot Merle a long time ago when I lived in Manhattan I was walking in central park watching a game of football and I heard a firecracker and felt like I got bit by a large dog. I put my hand back and was suddenly covered in blood I passed out then and woke up in the hospital 3 weeks later. I was shot by accident they never found who did it. Must have been aiming at someone else and was in the way. I lost my kidney and two ribs. They had to harvest bone from my pelvis to replace my ribs. But as you can see I'm dented where the ribs they made don't quite fit and the scar adheres to muscles.

So you see I need stretched but can't do it myself. I need someone to pull on both ends of the scar and break up the adhesions" And in the absence of someone who is willing to hurt me a little and wont pity me I rub rub rub and for a change of pace rub some more. So you see scars and ugly wounds don't bother me because I've been there and bought the t-shirt. Scars are testament to surviving a tragedy and giving it the finger before moving on with life.

Just part of life's journey and getting on the wrong road for a while before you find your way back but you're changed and stronger, maybe more cynical. Life dumped some superglue on to cover the broken parts. By the way superglue is great for wounds did you know that. Keeps out all the bugs. Used it on your fingers. Because fingers just get all the nasty cooties imaginable."

I think my mouth is hanging open because I literally have no comeback for this. We sit in companionable silence with her shirt half up her back and my hand on her scar. Then of course Daryl shows up.

**OOOs Daryl gonna think hee hee. **

**Interestingly enough I used to live in NYC 20 years ago. I was watching a Rugby match in Central Park and I heard nearby gunshots. I wondered how many innocent bystanders get shot doing the most mundane of activities. Later that evening on the news were stories of someone being killed right near central park, a drive by shooting. Maybe that could have been me. (I've never been shot by the way thank gods) Skya is not so lucky. **

**So any thoughts where this should go next. I love suggestions I love writing. Please let me know what you would like to see and I might try to use it. I love it when my favorite authors take a suggestion. I love constructive criticism too. Carry on peeps and enjoy thanks for stopping by.**


	10. Adhesions & Karma

** Ok so get ready for some angst Merle and Daryl (umm disclaimer owned by AMC/Kirkman not by me yatta yatt) get into it a little these Dixon Boys love each other so deeply they will sacrifice anything but they wont talk about it and they never ever look back but fate has a funny way of slapping you up the head to get your attention and karma is a wily bitch. I can respect that. Heh heh heh (laughs evilly). Graphic child abuse of a very young Merle is mentioned. self injury is alluded to so is substance abuse.**

8.

Her skin is warm to the touch, pale with a dusting of freckles all over. Her scar is like a divot in her side an ugly canyon marring her soft skin contrasting with her assertive beauty. I test the flexibility of her skin earning a sharp in drawn breath and a light groan. her skin is drawn in the middle of the scar about 5 inches long. I test its edges stuck in the middle but more mobile up her hip and down to her buttocks. it's almost the length of my hand, but being that my chewed remains of digits have broken bones and stitches still healing I am not able to put pressure on that side of my hand, even though my hand is large enough to stretch. I will have to have Daryl stretch her (SHIT - I hate admitting that I need help due to my lack of digits.)

"Merle? What the hell?"

Daryl is standing there gnawing on his thumb eyeing Skya n' me looking for all the world like I'm tryin' to bump uglies with her, but for once'n my life, I was only touching &amp; not tryin' to get in her pants. He actually interrupted a nice moment, a moment where I felt almost regular for the first time since I woke up. It was a good 5 minutes, where I concentrated on the softness of the skin around her scar and the vulnerability of her letting me touch her very tight scar, looking at the redness and how it is glued to the tissue around it.

"You are barely able to sit up on your own and you're putting moves on her already?" Daryl continues to dress me down "In front of all those little kids . . . Damn! And you Skya. . . you're no better. I'll not deny chicks dig my brother but it's usually because they're sluttier than a coon in heat. I thought you better than that."

"the fuck . . ."(I wanted to feel normal for longer you came back too early little brother) I start to jump to my feet instinctually wanting to pound his face through his skull, then I remember not only am I full of broken bones but I can't actually punch anything with either side. I sigh with frustration and settle into yelling at the Boy. "what fucking business of yours boy; at least one of us has the stones to even attempt. what are they just for decoration, Huh? why don' you find someone else to bother" (I don't like looking like a cripple in front of my brother).

She has that way of slowly smiling; if you look you can see many responses filtering through her brain. Then she looks me in the eye with a wry smile; starts to bring my brother back to reality and put him in his place without me losing respect in his eyes. "Now Daryl don't be jealous of your brother. Just because I've had opportunity to get cozy with him. Doesn't mean I'm as slutty as a female coon. He was actually assessing my scar and trying to figure out how to stretch it for me. I'll only let certain people work my scar. Those who won't make me feel pitiful being disfigured."

Wow that really put him in his place. Not the scathin' one liner that I expected but made him shut up and stop assuming the fuckin' worst of me. His mouth drops open for a moment and he gives us both a double look. I smile and comb my fingers through my increasingly unruly curls, snorting in humor

"You're looking at her scar Merle? Really?"

"Yep little brother. Among other things. Skya winces at that "hey guys I'm right here and not liking to hear that.

I look at Daryl looking at me; he nods, and helps me get my shirt up to my bad shoulder even though she has seen my scars before she hasnt looked at them like she is now there is almost no unscarred skin on my back and sometimes I get tight. usually a hot shower does the trick. He sits next to me and pulls up his shirt to show her at least some of his back. Unlike me he cares; doesn't willingly show others his scars. We show her both our backs. "No pity 'ere sweetheart, Daryl and I have our share of licks". (I don't show my back very often either but I don't exactly care. I've never been ashamed of my body. Theres only one scar that I wont show even Daryl hasent seen that one. It was my first and my worst) Most people think I'm scarred because I was in the military and because I'm an unrepentant prick.

Skya considers, I watch Daryl watching her. I hope she says the right thing.

"Okay I get it. Thanks guys"

"Who can stretch me" she says looking at me

"Well Daryl has two hands and no broken bones, I vote for him"

Daryl steps up to her and looks at her scar. "What happened to you girl? This looks old too. How come it never got fixed?" She lies down on my bed; I groan and move to the chair. For once my noises are ignored which I like. She considers and . . ."I was shot by mistake while I was watching a football game in central park when I lived in New York city 20 years ago. I was an animal researcher at the Bronx zoo specializing in crocodilians". (Holy shit really, the layers onion girl so many layers I've never suspected). "It felt like a big dog took a chunk out of me. When I put my hand to my back it came up dripping full of blood and that's the last thing I knew until 3 weeks later when I woke up at Jacobi Hospital in NYC."

"They had to remove my right kidney and two ribs, replaced the ribs with part of my pelvis. So they grafted skin from my leg, the grafts didn't take; they tried a second time but had to close it as best as they could. They showed me how to keep it stretched and how to work out the adhesions. I was fine for almost twenty years. Then 5 years ago when I had Mya, things got sore again, even though I was fine when Liam was born. I was getting scheduled for plastic surgery when the dead began to walk, but now that's gone along with the rest of society."

"Damn girl that sucks. Sorry for that." Daryl puts one hand above her scar and the other below. "Hold tight girl this might hurt a little, Im not sure how far to stretch ya. Just holler if I need to stop." She grimaces and groans, Daryl looks worried, and then she says. "No keep going this is good pain, REAL GOOD Ummm". I have to turn away and hug myself; laughing still hurts more than anything but damn if they only knew how that sounded. I look at Daryl who is blushing. Yes he knows how it sounds. His embarrassment makes it even better. He stretches her for a while and amazingly as it sounds she falls asleep in my bed. I look at her and watch her sleep.

The toddler girl was watching and came over, patted me on the knee, said Owie? I look at her and said "its Okay sweetheart". I get up stiffly and gingerly walk her over to Beth. By the time I cross the room I'm sweating and shaky. I shake her awake and give her the toddler. "Skya fell asleep, can you tuck her in?" Beth flinches to look at me. "Is Skya okay?" she asks. "Sure she was havin' some back pain and Daryl helped her. I think she's been overdoin' it taking care of the kids and me too. But she looks happy as a pig in shit now". She smiles tentatively and says "You look better Merle, I'm glad. Your brother hasn't been away from your side until he knew you were stable." I look at the chair at back at her "please sit Merle" I'm strangely tongue-tied around her I've never noticed her much, being that she is such an innocent little thing and seems to always have a baby in her lap.

"I'm better but its slow going. Hard to balance with my bum arm tied down. Your Dad took good care of me. He's a good Doctor. I wanted to say that I liked your singing that time. I bet you used to sing in church. Huh. I know it doesn't seem it but before my Momma died when Daryl was 8 we never missed a week even if she had to wear sunglasses, she even sang in the choir sometimes. I loved her voice when I was a kid". I don't know what else to say so I stare out into space for a while then. Get up and walk back to where Daryl is watching Skya sleep.

"You want me to move her? I look at her "nah let her stay I'll be Okay. If nothin else I'll get her to believe we had some sweet lovin' when she wakes with me in tha morning. I'm KIDDING! Li'l bro, I couldn't do a damn thing even if there weren't a bunch of kids sleeping on the other side of tha room. Geez, I'm not that big a piece of shit". So did ya find the meds? How was it out there?

"Yeah man we got them. They're all still sick but on the mend. Hershel needs you to stay down here for another week or two. Pretty ugly out there. Went to the vet school like the old man said. Ugly place, lotsa animals just died in their cages. People just died trapped. Went with Tyrese, Joe and Michonne. She helped me save your ass ya know. You missed it".

"All hell broke loose upstairs. some kind of crazy flu people coughin up their damn lungs ' bleedin out. Half of the governors' surviving town folks, dead of the flu when they survived, the crazy fucker. You do know that when you took out all those men before he nearly killed you, that he was unable to rebuild his army".

"I hurt him pretty bad, but not bad enough. I shot him in the chest but missed his heart. He put guns in the hands of kids, of people who did not know shit about defending themselves. They ran scared like rabbits when they came, refused to kill anyone when they found out the truth. Then he murdered all the people that came with them. He gunned them down, each and every one; just because they couldn't fight like he wanted them to. Then he disappeared".

I interrupted him, jumped to my feet, tripped because I moved too fast, caught my balance then proceeded with pacing slowly, not able to believe my ears. "what you mean NOT dead. I give my fingers, my wellbeing, get shot trough the chest and you JUST LET THE CRAZY FUCK LIVE!. Do yu even have a fuckin' brain in there anywhere, If you do is it workin at all? you couldn't kill him knowing what he did to me? to the others, how many people he fucking murdered. How he ruined a good chance. The first time I was respected and clean since the fucking Marines threw me in the damn brig!

Daryl grabs at me causing me to lose my balance and I flail at him for support (damn can't I just punch him and be normal again already why do I need to be gimpy on both fuckin sides)

"You just listen now Man. You were bleeding out fast and I decided I wanted your sorry ass to live, don't know why I thought that now.I just want my brother back.

" I done tole you that already. What did you kill so many brain cells from drugs that you can't remember shit. I just want you around. I want you for once, not hurt, not high, not in trouble with the law. Just here, hunting, fixing shit, making shit. Cracking stupid jokes, laughing at even stupider shit &amp; cooking the weird food you like so much. Snoring so bad I gotta throw somthin' at you and then you accusing me of snoring myself awake cause, for fuck sake Merle Dixon just don't never snore. How come that's so impossible for you to get along; or just agree to leave them alone.

"We went and got the rest of the people, after he massacred the ones that he forced to attack us. then he disappeared. figured that's enough of killing. Then they come here and died from the flu that we caught from a goddamn hog. They coughed, ran a fever hot as hell, vomited till they turn themselves inside out, then bled from the lungs, nose and eyes, and suffocated on their own blood and spit. Then they reanimated and started eating people who weren't sick yet, kids got it first then some old people, then people in their prime. The only reason I didn't get it is I wasn't here. I was out there hunting, and going on runs".

"So don't you even think of going up there until each and every one of those sick motherfuckers stop coughing. I'm still pissed at you by the way. When will you learn, I just got my brother back and you have to go off and nearly get your simpleminded self killed just because you're too damn proud to ask for forgiveness and try to get along with people who you need to make amends. You did bad shit. You know you did. Why don't you for once in your sorry ass life own up the shit you did and prove to someone other than me that you're not a simple-minded piece of redneck shit like you accuse them of treating you".

"Daryl, hold on" he's pacing now he's so upset, Skya is playing possum being right next to me. I'm resting my hand on her so she doesn't draw his attention. Beth is staring at him unnoticed, Skya's kids have woken and the girl is starting to whimper, with Beth holding her. Daryl is more and more agitated and is now hissing like a nest of angry snakes. He doesn't see everyone staring until he stops for a moment. Normally quiet the volatile side of his temper is bubbling up and ready to get volcanic. It's a good show so I give him another nudge to really make him pop off at me,

"No Merle it's my turn. It's been your turn for 40 years. Now I get my say. This time you do as I ask. We are equals now. I won't live in your shadow and I won't ask you to live in mine. You saved my life when we were kids more than once. This time you were dying &amp; I kept you breathing, made sure your lungs didn't collapse, you didn't bleed out. I did right by you".

"You fucking prick. You didn't see what you looked like when you had blood pouring out of you with every fuckin heartbeat. when I had to stuff shit I found into yer damn chest front an back so ya diddn' bleed out till I got ya sorry ass to Hershel. When you started hallucinatin', talking in your fever dreams. When I watched them to put your arm and your insides back together. I should have never needed to see your bones and lung through the holes in your damn idiot self. Why are you so damn smart yet do such fuckin' dumb shit time after time. You 'aint even on drugs no more. When you were tweaking' you at least had a excuse. Why do you do such dumb shit an' leave me to sort it out? What the fuck is yer problem man?"

"When Hershel says it's OK you are going up there without your shirt without your wrist guard. They will see that you are covered in scars, the belt marks on your back and chest that you hide from our childhood. The burn on your stomach from the fire and the cigarette marks(1). (Holy shit he knows about Daddy trying to burn my package when I was little). They will see how you defended me and tried to give your life to keep the prison from falling. They will see my scars too. Because they will for one time only see us as they never have before. Dixon secrets will kill no more Dixons".

"You will survive this. I am not asking you I am telling you. I saved your worthless ass make it count for fucking once you prick. Ain't you tired of it all, Merle the constant unnecessary fucking struggle? Damn, Merle I need some air, but it needed to be said. I'm goin hunting I'll come back tonight. I've missed you man, I've really missed you Merle. There's jus' ain't no one like you, no one can ever replace that. Shit I gotta git outta 'ere."

He lets me go suddenly and stomps off, I sit suddenly down knowing that he knows about my most vulnerable moment as a little boy, when this all started when my trust was broken for good and my Daddy threw me in the fire like an unwanted dirty paper plate, trash (1). The truth is I never ask for help because I never believed it would ever come again. Daryl had me but who did I have. No one stopped my Daddy's when I was so young. My momma was out working, the neighbors called the cops. I was treated and given back to my parents. Shit gets swept under the rug when yer Momma is stripper who roped the local moonshine maker into marryin' him. No one hears, or sees, or feels. I live invisible so does Daryl. But at least he has me. It's a miracle I survived at all. Sometimes rats eat their young, my Daddy chewed me up good, then spat me out and gnawed on Daryl when I wasn't watching. That blind eye was contagious, my greatest sin and why I sacrificed myself.

Don't get me wrong. I'm glad I lived. I've never given in and despite the misery and sorrow in ma life I never tried to take my own life. I liked to self medicate and feel dumb. messed up but understandable. what freaks me out now is I'm doing this clean. I'm no longer taking pain meds I'm feeling this pain for the first time not numbing myself and the feeling is new but in a fucked up way a bit of a high in itself. I sit there like a little broken boy that I once was.

Skya watches me watch her.

"What the HELL was that"? she asked

I smirk at her through my agony. "Ever hear Karma is a bitch. Musta pissed off a whole tribe of gypsies in a past life (2)".

**I have a couple of shout outs**

**(1) Reassurance by TheSparrow93. Merle was burned on his stomach and hip by his Dad at the age of 4. apparently it was a weenie roast. sick but amped up the angst. loved the tender love between brothers.**

**(2) Life after Death by Helen Patskyn I used to read fan fic about Agent Sands from the wonderful Rodriguez movie Once Upon a Time in New Mexico. Her first person fanfiction inspired me to try this. - very good at getting into his head space and showing that he was much more than a sociopath.**

**Merle is talking to himself again (indicated by this) in parenthesis.**

**I'm not beneath begging Please review me and tell me what works and what I need to improve on. Im gratified to see that people are reading and returning to read more. that makes me squee. I have had very few reviews however. I need some reader love. sharing is caring. TYTYTY**


	11. Dinner in the pigsty

**Chapter notes: Merle's subconscious is kind of crowded with a dream sequence. He is feeling better and healing therefore he is starting to get more restless and some of his quirks are beginning to come back to the surface. He's still Merle but this is changing him he may be acting a little OC but he is man with a lot of layers. He is trying to get along a little better. He is remembering taking care of Daryl when he was little and trying to protect him. Also ( ) indicates that he is talking to himself silently. Thanks for reading people ****J review review review TY. **

Merle POV

I watch Daryl stalk off and consider his outburst. I don't think I've ever heard him say so much with such assertiveness. He is right even if I didn't dream about Momma. I literally can't do it on my own anymore at least for now. I need them to see me as I really am, not just Merle the evil badass, but me as someone hopefully deserving to be here, even if ignored. I just can't deal for everyone seeing me as the very worst of people. I just want to be left be. Give me a car to fix, or let me go hunting. I'm happy not having to deal with others much, let me take lots of guard rotations. Just don't bother me with stupid shit. That's all I really want.

I forget that Skya is awake

"Damn Merle, I've never heard your brother talk in full sentences before. He must really be worried about you to have so much to say"

I nod and stare off into space for a while. Things are going to have to be different now. I've always done better on my own, I've never been cut out for being around people all the time. Now it's time to learn this, at least until I've healed and can breathe normally again and have strengthened up to my normal asskicking self again. I'm really looking forward to when I have the energy and lung strength to work out again; even if I have to figure out how to manage without a full grip on my remaining hand.

I shake my head and give her a wry smile "How's about a short walk jus' me n you? I gotta start getting this lung healthy again. I'm not getting' any stronger sittin' here staring off to space. I'm damnably bored too. Ya got somethin' for me ta do?"

She sits up and considers me. "Lets walk around the room see how your lungs like it. I stand up with her and get my bearings, my arm and ribs are sore but I can take a shallow breath. My back hurts worse than anything, hard to stand up straight, but I force it to comply at least a little more. Move it Marine! She sees me wince and raises an eyebrow. "Don't push yourself too far and make yourself bleed again". I snort "I'm okay lets walk before I get tired". I move like I'm an old man (which Im not damn you).

The infirmary is a big room, enough for Skya, Beth, Carl (who avoids me) and the younger kids and me on the other side. Skya has her arm around my waist which I don't mind as she smells good and her hair is soft. She is only 4-5 inches smaller than me. I'm nearly 6 ft so she's fairly tall. I've lost some weight she must be nearly same as me as she is bulky and very strong with some remaining weight accentuating her curves. She has nice curves. I smell her hair as she walks with me. Very nice. She takes notice of my ogling.

"Gotta get healthy first before you can act that dirty mind of yours out", she smirks. As we circle the room I'm getting short of breath, all I can do is glance at her and smirk. She has a very odd bedside manner. She obviously has taken care of sick people before but I can't imagine her talking them as he does to me. She is exceedingly blunt. We get back to my bed I sink into it with a groan that I can't hold back and ease myself into my favorite position off of my back and fucked up right side. She sits next to me " I sure wish I had a cold pack for your back muscles near your exit wound, might help the tightness and help your breathing muscles a bit."

I throw a look over my right shoulder, "how is my wound looking by the way I can still smell it a little" Skya considers my back as she thinks "Hershel had to dig it out a bit when the infection set in, there was cloth from your shirt trapped in the wound and a fragment of the bullet in there. He and Maggie opened it up and got all the crap out that they could but it involved the muscles more and is deep to the scapula. So it has to be packed with gauze and changed every day or two. It is granulating nicely though, but it's no longer infected and smells like fresh blood to me. I've smelled much worse wounds. It will be healing for a while and you will probably have a doozy of a scar. With all of those previous scars and your hand amputation, you must know about the healing process though. I will do everything I can to make sure there is no adhesion"

It's true too. It's been a while since I looked in the mirror, but I'm covered in scars. I know I'm fucked up to look at when I pull my clothing off. I have to admit I'm considered ruggedly attractive until they see the scars. Then I give them the bullshit line about being a POW. My daddy was a brutal abusive bastard who liked to put a hurting on my mother Daryl and me. Never understood why, but my early life was spent protecting myself and Daryl from his brutality, unsuccessfully as we are both covered in scars from his belt and cigarettes. He even burned me across the stomach when I was about 4 and I had peed myself in fear, he then pushed me into the fire and called it a weenie roast, I screamed until the neighbors came, I have a huge scar from my hip to my navel. I tell people I got captured and tortured when I was a sniper in Granada. No one but Daryl had to know that my father tortured us and the military was far less damaging. Women do love a war hero after all. My scars never stopped me from functioning in bed, even if they did stop me from being comfortable around people.

"yeah I guess you got a point, but don't expect to tell you about my scars, the story is best left alone but suffice it to say that going to war in Granada was less dangerous than growing up in the good ole' Dixon household if you get my drift. Moving forward that's why Daryl and I are used to patching each other up setting dislocation and gluing or sewing minor wounds shut. But I've never had a wound that needed packed; even my gunshot wound I picked up in the military in my right side had no infection and healed with minimal medical care. I am actually a fucking war hero". I did end up getting kicked out after I got better from my wound and had a fist fight with a non com pussy that messed with me. I ended up in the brig for 16 months took away my purple heart and everything.

"Holy shit Merle you have some eye-popping stories, guess you have a long history of scintillating personality quirks" She smiles and goes across the room to dig in a pile, she comes back with an armful of stuff. "You said that you're bored so here are some books to read, not sure how good they are but it's something to help your mind stop feeding on itself.

Come on girl you're a therapist, give me some exercises that I can start toning up this beat to shit carcass of mine and especially this mangled up hand. Can I get rid of these bandages on my hand and start stretching my arm yet. . . "She agrees to show me some stretches for my hand and abdomen." I don't think your injured fingers are ready for you to start fixing stuff, but you can start doing some hand and breathing exercises so you can function better. I can go over them with you if you like"

I spend the rest of the morning getting myself washed and dressed and starting to stretch and holding back painful groans more often than not. Her kids are starting to hang around by me. I prefer kids that don't talk yet. Her son is very bright, but doesn't have much experience with anything concrete. Her daughter is shy and (thankfully) doesn't say much but just unnerving tends to stare at me. Skya catches on fortunately and says something about it before I have to string up anyone by their ankles, shooing the kids back to Beth and Carl.

One of the books she found for me is a book about scientists, a time machine and the bubonic plague (just weird) which started out boring as shit but became intriguing. So I sat there for hours flipping the pages with my abused fingers as day became dusk and my muscles tightened up from sitting. I smell food and finish my page, then without waiting I make my slow gimpy way over to where the rest eat dinner.

"Figured now that I'm awake it's time to move around some. I sit down next to Skya and her son smiles at me. "Did you know that the shawshank redemption was filmed in a real prison?" Did you know that the meteor that killed the dinosaurs was called 'Armageddon'? Where does this kid come up with this shit? I look at him he is skinny, quite tall has his mother's blue eyes and wide-set cheekbones, but not her solid build. He is very vulnerable and spends his time with his head in the clouds but still cries at night for his lost father. If he were mine, he would be hunting learning how to defend himself. This kid needs some toughening up. I reply "I did not know that. Where do you come up with this stuff kid?" He smiles and says"I used to spend time on the computer, before everyone got sick. I wanted to be a paleontologist. I learned to read when I was 4."

I don't want to piss off his mother so I look at her for guidance. She smiles, "honey I don't know that Merle is interested in space. You know we need to teach you how to defend yourself and how to use a weapon. That is what he is good at. But now let's focus on the meal and let's not ask Merle too many questions just yet. Let him get to know you Quietly. He starts tearing up. I say "kid when my hand gets better we will start fixing stuff together. I might need you to hold things for me until I can use my wrist guard again" He smiles (reminds me of another blue eyed little boy).

The girl crosses her eyes at me when her mother isn't looking. I stick out my tongue quickly and then just as quickly school my features while the little imp giggles. Carl glares at me but can't quite keep the smile off his face. I snicker as they all giggle. Skya looks at me and I merely raise an eyebrow. I focus on trying to eat is somewhat normal fashion until it's time to grip my cup. Then it slips out of my bandaged hand all over my lap and the floor, breaking as it hits the concrete. I swear as the kids laugh. Skya watches me then picks up her own cup and looking me in the eye dumps it into her own lap. Sploosh the whole damn thing.

I laugh and say "damn girl is it a prison or a pigsty". Skya's little girl then starts oinking as does Emma the toddler girl. Beth colors up red and laughs. She and Skya hit the floor and start picking up pieces of my glass and sopping up the drinks. I pick up my plate and move to the kids table; where they make room for me. Never thought I would see the day Ole Merle sitting with a bunch of kids eating and NOT being totally uncomfortable. I even smiled a little; aware that Beth is watching me stunned with her mouth hanging open threatening to catch bugs (I will have to say something rude later to keep up my image). Skya looks up at me and laughs (I hope she feels strong because I'm gonna need someone to lever my creaky ass outta the chair and back to bed). Normalcy such as it is feels good (hey y'all Merles at the kids table and no one got eaten - as if I'm really a ogre)

The meal was filling and I start getting snoozy but I feel like it aint time to sack out yet. I force myself to take another painful walk getting 2 laps around the room before needing to stop. I curl up with my book and read of scientists and plagues. Really not as much science fiction as it once was. (too bad that).

I dream, I was 15 and Daryl was 7. Momma had worked late that night, no longer young and pretty enough, she waited tables while we were in school, and then drank the rest of the time. She was late coming home from work, Daryl was home by himself when my Daddy got home early and he had spilled milk on the floor. I came home to Daryl having climbed to the roof to stay away from the angry bastard who was hanging out the window of our trailer trying to dislodge him. I yanked my fathers ass into the house and pounded him one hard right off "get yer hands off him you have no right to hit him for anything". Dad jumped to his feet swept mine out from under me and my head bounced off table he rolled me over and pinned me bending my arm behind me until I saw stars and I felt my weak left shoulder slide out yet again. He then punched me until I passed out. Daddy then jumped in the beat up old truck and pealed out of the yard to go drink himself insensible.

Mumbling about "useless brats". Momma came home an hour later already buzzed up found me on the floor and helped me climb into bed. She didn't even notice that Daryl wasn't in the house. He was still on the roof hiding from his parents. He climbed in when Momma disappeared for the night. Got a towel and helped me wash up my wounds, and put my arm back into place. I woke up in the morning to him bringing me the cereal box and the carton of milk so this time he didn't spill it.

Three months later I was in juvie for the first time after being caught with weed in my pocket. The cycle had started.

**So a little fluffier in some areas but still pretty angsty. Merle is starting to get better and he is trying to get along but he is kind of cluess however he does like kids and he is good at fixing and building stuff. He's getting antsy too Poor Merle. If anyone has a suggestion I'm always looking for good ideas. Let 'em rip. I think in a couple of chapters he will be out of the infirmiary trying to get back to using weapons, hunt etc, maybe exploring how to really be a brother and how to function as limited as he is now. so do you think he will make it or is he going to be self destructive hmm**

**one shout out**

**Reassurance by TheSparrow93. Merle was burned on his stomach and hip by his Dad at the age of 4. apparently it was a weenie roast. sick but amped up the angst. loved the tender love between brothers.**

**ha. no way I just looked at my traffic graph exactly 666 views, kinda fitting for Merle being the main character don't you think?**


	12. Blood, Plaster & Apologies

**So Merle is feeling better, he is getting antsy and it will be next chapter that he starts doing more stuff physically. He is still dealing with the fact that he very nearly died and he knows to the bottom of his being that things will never be the same even once his injuries are healed. Daryl brings Rick to see and appreciate what a sacrifice he made even if it wasn't for the group but (of course) only Daryl. Frustration ensues because Merle wants to pound his ass but most literally cannot even try to throw a punch at this point. Poor guy. Might have to learn some people skills (gasp).**

**Review review review. Like candy for me! As always only OC is mine AMC owns the rest. (sniff).**

My brother returns with the morning bringing Hershel &amp; Rick with him to check on the progress of my injuries. I groan and sit up as they come into the infirmary Hershel even is walking on a new leg. I whistle "looking good peg leg! Damn you must have hit the gimp lottery who found that for you?! He smiled through his beard. "They found a medical supply store on a run while you were out of it. Picked up some things for you too, gauze to pack your wound, antibiotics, a splint that I'm going to make you now. It's been two weeks and I'm sorry to say the plague took me away from you but luckily you were under Skya &amp; Bethy's excellent care. So depending on the positioning of your arm we may make a splint or a full cast so your arm heals better".

I smirk as Daryl enters the infirmary silently as a hunting cat. But for some reason his whole demeanor is that of guilt. Before I can open my mouth I can see the reason. I just now saw the crazy ex sheriff, "what the fuck is officer friendly doing here? I don't want to deal with him yet." Daryl answers "he needs to see what the gov really did to you that day. I want to have him see how much you put yourself on the line." I sigh he is right but I don't like it and I say as much. "Whatever still don't like it. You better watch him while I'm getting my back fixed".

I smirk and gradually position myself to get prodded. I'm lying on my left side with my useless arm up and folded across my chest, with my head turned to the right, and Daryl sitting next to me. Hershel seems to understand and asks "you ready son? He begins peeling the dressing from my back. I watch Ricks face go white under his tan as the rest of the smell hits, and as they pull the gauze out of my back, he shakes his head. I smell the fresh blood mixed with the old and hear in drawn breaths of Daryl and Rick as they react to the goriness of the wound. It's still painful but it's subsided to the point that with careful positioning I can roll over without seeing stars.

Hershel is running a commentary since I can't see it. "Looking better, the infection is gone and the wound is granulating nicely. I see no tunneling of the wound, let me take some more measurements. Let's see the depth is less, the tissues are pinker, excellent circulation, scapula is no longer visible on the medial border and it's smaller on the width and breadth. Less odor too in a week or so I think I can stitch it closed and let it heal the rest of the way on its own. How is the pain? I laugh and tell him it feels like I have a giant hole in my damn back. He gets ready for the miserable part. I take a couple of deep breaths preparing for the pain that is certain to come as he repacks my back.

"Alright old man do yer worst" I cringe as they pour sterilized water to clean my wound and the most painful part of my day, when they shove sterilized gauze into my open hamburger like back to help it heal from inside out. He then re dresses my back as I groan and moan and shudder. Hershel checks my broken ribs on my back and then has Daryl help position me on my side. So they can redress my front wound. He peels the dressings and exclaims "The entry is healing better than I thought possible. Maybe next week you can go without dressings on the front other than maybe a Band-Aid".

He runs his hands over my ribs on both sides and asks me to expand my lungs. I do so while cringing. "Better, but I still think your ribs and lung have quite some healing to do. Lungs can heal in 3 months or so but you have to watch your nutrition, get rest when you can and limit your lifting for sure. You also have to limit your exposure to cold wet air; pneumonia is a real concern for at least a year. If you haven't given up smoking yet consider this the right time." I'm clean now, I've been a mess for 2-3 weeks but this is the cleanest I've been in my long history of pharmaceutical vacationing.

Rick has listened silently up until now and now is regaining his color. What a pussy! Hershel starts setting up to tend to my arm next. I see scissors, gauze, plaster and splinting materials. I smell the antiseptic smell of fresh medical supplies and hear several packages opening as Hershel prepares to tend to my broken arm. He looks at Skya. "Can you help him sit up with some back support"? She and Daryl help me reposition and prop me up with pillows. Hershel then gently unwraps my right handless arm and moves the elbow and shoulder while I cringe and snort with discomfort. My heart which has been throbbing with my back now takes up the beat of my arm. I feel sweat coming up on my face and chest. I glare at Rick and he shakes his head breathing deeply. I feel Daryl grip me tighter and I look at him as he shakes his head looking into my eyes.

Hershel evaluates all the ranges and states "Im going to splint this on a half clamshell, you will get the support and have less weight to deal with, Skya I need you to bend his elbow to 90' and hold him there while I apply the casting material. I will show you how to wrap it, then he needs to be in a sling and swathe for another two weeks". Hershel shows her how to wrap my useless fucking arm. Ever see a handless arm in a cast? It's actually somewhat difficult to get the damn cast to stay on without a wrist to hold the fuckin' thing in place. It's clumsy too, going from stump to my pit as the break is just above my elbow. I glare at Hershel, "how much longer until I have any use of my damn right side." He sighs deeply "Depends on you Merle, I'm sorry but I think you are using it too much. If you want it to be useful again it needs to heal correctly and that means no pressure and no movement until I say it's ready. That's the miserable part of having a broken arm. I will check it in two weeks for you".

Finally my fingers are last and the most hopeless of all since they are a second constant reminder that I'm a cripple even if I can still hide it from others I can't hide it from myself and likely not from Daryl or even Skya who barely knows me. Hershel unwraps them and they are just awful looking, I must have gone white, I see darkness surrounding me and I nearly pass out, luckily I'm propped in bed and put my head on my knees, however I don't like Rick to see me passing out because I looked at my missing fingers and panicked like a little girl with a skinned knee.

Hershel removes some of the sutures that are ready and redresses the open areas. It has finally hit home. I will never be the man I was in Atlanta, even though little Merle helps me as a fighter, I will still now be limited to one mangled up excuse for a hand with less than a full ability to grip and only 3 and a half fingers to hold a gun, cut my food, tie my shoes and so on. I will have to ask others for help as I've never had to do before even when I lost my hand, and that is what purely freaks me out. Daryl holds me by both shoulders looks me in the eye "you're alright man, stop being such a pussy, you've got this". I look at him smirk and nod rolling my eyes at Rick who was watching the whole thing.

Rick's POV

What a mess. Its been awhile since I've seen such a constellation of injuries on someone and have them survive. Daryl asked me to come along so I could see his injuries and help the others understand the sacrifice he made. He was shot through the chest, and I've seen enough people die from an injury like that. I know how lucky he is to survive

Merle will probably be under the weather for quite a while. He will need to get along with others to stay here and who knows maybe he can learn to not be such an unredeemable asshole to everyone. I get the feeling since he let Michonne go and removed part of Woodbury's threat, allowing us to defend ourselves successfully that most of our people would be willing to give him another shot at being part of our group. It's the least I can do for Daryl.

I also have to admit that he went on that crazy suicidal run because of my plans. I owe him for that and for handcuffing him in Atlanta. I have to admit to myself that I took one look at his racial epithet spewing, drug fueled redneck self and had no appreciation for his humanity or the fact that there may be more to him than the crazy stuff we most often see. I have no doubt that he is completely devoted to his brother, and maybe we can make use of his knowledge and training in the military. I can use him to train those people from Woodbury who can't use a weapon, and trouble shoot malfunctioning mechanics. Daryl tells me that he is quite talented in both these areas. It's time that he and I bury the hatchet and not in each other's back either, if not for his sake than at least for Daryl's.

I watch him watching me, watch him and can nearly see the gears in his head spinning wildly. "Its time that we clear the air Merle. You proved yourself to be an asset to this group. What you did for us, weakening their defenses."

He interrupts me, "Sheeit man you can't be that stupid. Now you know I did that for my baby brother, jus so were clear. I'm okay with clearing the air, but know I'm gonna be watchin' you. I paid a pretty high price . . . twice for your decision. I won't be doing anymore of yer dirty work. You'll need to find yerself another bad guy. I don't have enough fingers anymore."

I look at Merle and Daryl who is sitting beside him. "You're right, I owe you and I did take advantage of you. You even warned me about it. Ultimately you made a decision that I should have made in the first place. I know you didn't do it for me, maybe not for her either, but I'm glad you decided what you did."

I went silent going deep in my thoughts. Merle is a opportunist but given the opportunity to be an asset he just might be one. He also wants to be with his brother and is motivated by that.

"I've got to say one more thing to you then I will let you be for a while. I should have said something a long time ago. I did something terrible to you that day in Atlanta. I've wanted to take it back since then. I never said how much I regret what I did, but I do. I wish I had restrained you in any other way but that one. You were out of control, you were a danger to us, but even so what I did I regret it".

I watch as his features flush bright red with impending explosion, which is the reason I wanted to clear the air before he is strong enough to attack me.

"You were on a power trip officer friendly. You took one look at me and treated me like you were still a cop. You forgot that the goddamn world had ended and we ain't on top of the fuckin' food chain. You tie a person up now an leave 'em, they're gonna be a walker's next meal. You have NO idea what it is like to cut your own goddamn hand off with no anesthetic &amp; a dirty saw. Then have to burn yourself so you don't bleed to death while defending yourself because you smell like a damn walker buffet. You can't begin to understand what that is like. So don't go telling me to clear the air with ya. You ever try to tie your shoes one-handed or cut your food, or sharpen a blade one-handed? Shit man you just don't get it"

Hershel cuts in, "Merle, I do know some of what you went through though I didn't have to do it to myself. You are right in that no one understands the pain you experienced and readjustment that you had to make. But Rick is trying to move forward by letting you know he regrets what happened to you and especially the part he played in it. You may never like Rick but can you live peacefully with him and with the others? Can you be part of this community and share your skills with them? We can use a man with your expertise in weaponry and mechanics. I for one respect your knowledge and your military background. I also understand that under that sometimes unpleasant exterior there is more than meets the eye.


	13. Brotherly Grunts

**This is a first person multiple POV featuring Daryl, Merle, Hershel OC. No Mary Sue. No neat and tidy perfection. Messy life at least attempting to follow TV canon. Most of the story is set behind and between what we see on TV. What if the bullet had gone wide as if a one-eyed man had been surprised on his blind side. what ramifications would it have on Daryl, Rick, the others. Will Merle be able to stop being so damn self-destructive. If someone is there for him (Daryl) and Hershel helps him heal. Will it bring him back? Will we see his ability to bond with his brother and support life at the prison in the background? He's still too injured to fight; so He wont commit suicide when the gov returns. He knows that Daryl would just save him again so he can thoroughly kick his ass into tomorrow. I need writer love peeps give me some suggestions what you want to see happen. I'm gonna put a helping of angst some brotherly humor. Some seriously bratty behavior, Merle is going to grow but he will continue have some deliciously asshatty moments that we all know and love. OH yeah the characters and story belong to Kirkman/AMC the OC is my responsibility. Read, review and enjoy. that is all. Cheers, Lefty**

Merle POV

Holy shit! Thought I never would hear Rick apologizing for costing me my hand. I will never trust Rick and some of the others, but now I might have a chance to build a life here with Daryl. I would be happy to just be left be and helping out with guarding the towers and dispatching the walkers at the fences. I don' need to sing kum-bay-a with the others. A few I can tolerate, like Hershel, Beth and Skya. The others, I'm sick of them judging me. I've done bad shit but so have others.

So I reply as Rick &amp; Hershel regard me, and Daryl is smirking waiting for me to fuckin' explode. So I give them the shock of their lives.

"yeah I guess I can live with the others. But I got some conditions of my own. The Chinaman &amp; Herschel's' daughter gotta stop looking at me like I'm going to grab them and fly straight to hell. I own up to doing some really bad shit. I know I went overboard, I nearly killed some folks. I'm probably not going to stop being an asshole, but I'll not be a dangerous asshole any longer. But others need to leave me alone and stop fuckin' with me. I'm best off by myself anyway. Let me guard the tower, kill some walkers, fix the mechanical shit, hunt with my brother. I think I wont be good for much for another couple of weeks anyway."

Hershel snorts "more like another month or two. Merle you are just beginning to heal. You still should get a lot of rest. Take a few walks during the day. You shouldn't lift anything, no pushing or pulling, no hunting, no killing walkers at the fence. Let me reiterate. The cast is by no means a new weapon to hit stuff with. You need to stay in isolation for at least another week until the rest of the sick people have cleared the contagious stage. Even then you should be only minimally active.

Rick looks at me "glad to hear it Merle. What are your other conditions?"

I smirk, "I doubt were gonna be best pals but I can try not to hate ya so much. I wanna cell close to ma brother but away from t'others."

Rick nods and says goodbye to Daryl who nods back and leaves. Hershel continues to look between Daryl and me, smiling.

"I have to say I'm pleasantly surprised especially with you Merle. I think the others haven't given you the opportunity to show them what kind of man you really are. Anyone can make bad decisions if they are pushed too far. You went through as bad an experience as I can imagine, and I think I can imagine it better than the rest. I hope you can work off a clean slate starting now. I also hope that you will not allow others to antagonize you into reacting rashly".

I zone out as he drones on about getting' along with those assholes I want nothing to do with. I smell the odor of my wound and the antiseptic that is causing it to heal. I hear the buzz of Daryl, Hershel and Skya all talkin' bout me, realizin' that I got more 'n my brother on my side.

The rise n fall of their voices remind me of when I was sick as a kid. The hundredth time I had to stay home cause my old man stirred my brains with his fist cause of some dumb shit I did as a kid. I heard my mother crying on the phone and a tv quiet in the background, smells of band aids on my head wound, and Baby Daryl cooing in the other room. Still innocent before he realized that we lived in an ugly world and our parents were messed up and beaten down by life. I got up and went down to my Mother crawled into her lap as she cried. She rocked me and cried into my curly head murmuring how sorry she was and how she had no power to stop it.

My brother cuffs my head to bring me back from walking in my memories. One of the few gentle memories from our Mother. She loved us but she was a helpless thing, damaged beyond repair, I still think she purposely caused the fire that she died in. I think she died in a pharmaceutical forever sleep but burned the house down accidentally, we will never know.

I blink in the sunlit room bringing myself back to the present rubbing my mangled hand across my stubbly chin. I cautiously concentrate expanding my sore abdominal muscles while feeling the sun bathing my pale skin in the late morning sunlight, relaxing the muscles that had tightened during my dressing changes. I listen to the many layers of voices from the children, Beth, and more distantly the mundane sounds of many people starting their day.

Damn! I respect Hershel, He is a good Doctor and is helping me heal but I'm done being lectured for now. Talking to Rick really pushed me to my limit. If I wasn't injured like I am and had the energy to kick his ass, I probably would have broken his face for him. I interrupt him.

"I like you old man but I'm reaching my limit for lecturing. I'm tired and hurting; I need people to stop talking at me. Aren't you listening? Yes I'm going to do my best to get along but people have to leave me alone and give me some space. All I want is to be with my brother. I know this is a shock but I really don't like people all that much. Enough said. Go away so I can rest".

Hershel smiles and says. I'll be back in a few days to see if you're treating that arm and back nicely. Thanks Merle. See ya Daryl, Skya. Carl, you and the older kids can come back to the cell block, the worst of the flu is over."

He walks off talking to Beth on his way out. "Bethy I need you staying here with the little ones". Daryl smiles &amp; looks at me and asks "Ya kicking me out too, Ya foul-mouthed ugly piece of shit?" I smile back at him, "as long as yer not gonna lecture me you can stay, Darlina" He goes back to making arrows, I start nodding off.

So for the next week life is pretty uneventful, I still ain't anywhere close to my usual self. The wound on my back makes it hard to find a comfortable position when I try to rest or sleep and also makes it hard for me to straighten fully when I stand and walk. I can't hide my pain and what's worse, I'm getting better at accepting help from Skya and my brother. I spend time reading, taking increasingly longer walks.

I'm spending much of my time as a ghost; hanging out with my brother, while I wait for my abused body to heal enough to function but not effective at much of anything just watching the pattern of life while we wait for the damn bug to run its course,. With my right arm immobilized I'm still pretty damn useless and it makes me more bad-tempered than is usual for even myself. Impressive even for someone who is generally known as an unrepentant asshole (and proud of it too damn ya). I stay away from Skya and the kids, they don' deserve that shit. Daryl understands that it is not aimed at him. He and I spend time in our way of companionable silence. Skya has a habit of sitting with me when I read, while reading her own book.

She is teaching the little kids, how to write and read, but she ain't very good at it. She might teach them more about cussing, not so patient is Skya. She seems to be a wonderful mother, tucks her kids in plays with them wrestles with them but when it comes time to teach them she gets frustrated quickly. Fun to watch and reveals much about her. I can tell that she is not a teacher as her frustration is damn near palpable.

It's now quieter down here with Carl and the older children back in the cell block. I miss being outside and am looking forward to going huntin' again soon. Even if I ain't ready to take down anythin' large for a while, I can set snares and get things like squirrels, rabbits. Maybe it's the time to ask Skya if she wants to learn a little about tracking and hunting the smaller critters.

She asked me when I was first waking up. Said it could be a trade. She will take care of me and help me get better, and when I'm healthy I will teach her how to track and use firearms more effectively. Might help me get acclimated to functioning with my remaining digits too.

I'm spending a bit of time staring off into space and thinking about shit. Choices I could a made better. Maybe why I do the dumb shit I do. I don't fuckin' understand people, never have. I never learned how to let myself care about more than a select few people. I never would hurt a kid, mostly not women neither. Seen too much of that when I were a kid. I couldn't protect myself or Daryl, and we both grew up into fucking disasters as adults. I wont be like my Daddy and beat or neglect a kid. I learned to hunt and taught Daryl to hunt so we wouldn't starve as kids and we were safer in the woods than we were in our own house.

Getting along in a group of people will be a stretch for me and I am going to have to make it work. For once I need them too because I'm still too injured to move around properly and defend myself very well, what with a gaping hole in my back and a bunch of healing broken bones. I move worse than Hershel does.

That is just incredibly pathetic, but it might be that point of healing when you're getting better and you realize how far you have to go before you feel like your old self again. I've been wounded a bunch of times and I know how to rehab broken bones, gunshot wounds and amputation, but I've never had to do all at once, and honestly I have to admit at least to myself that I am a bit frustrated with the healing process. It's so damn slow and I have a craving to be active, to spar, to hunt, to shoot. None of which I have the strength or energy to do right now. I can't even work at fixing shit because I can't use my right arm to hold stuff down or even attempt to wear "little Merle".

I also have to get used to my remaining hand being a few digits less. My smallest finger is mostly gone with a very small stub remaining, and was crushed by the Gov bite, the next finger is in much better shape and is half remaining, I might be even able to grip a little with it and build a callus on the stub. I hope it's not as tender as my wrist stump is. The scar on my wrist is thick and the stump itself is easily irritated so I have to keep it wrapped and padded inside little merle or it gets rubbed. It has build up more tolerance to little Merle in the last few months but now that it is immobilized I find that I'm having more phantom pain, probably because I cant use it much right now. What a fucking nuisance.

My brother has been coming and going, bringing in some small kills for me to dress or arrows to help build (as much as I can one handed-not really my best skill) and guns to clean. I help him the best I can, his way of helping me get used to being more limited; learning to make up for my lack of dexterity and be less bored. He knows me well enough to know that my boredom is hard for me to take and does not bode well for any other poor asshole that has to tolerate me.

I throw a pebble at him to get his attention, "I'm ready to get moving man, I'm done with the sitting around bullshit, waiting to get better. It's time for me to figure out how to be useful while I'm still gimpy. I gotta at least start taking longer walks; Work at maintaining weapons n' shit. Sit with the others at dinner with my shirt off 'n make the pussies puke".

Daryl looks at me gnaws on his fingers the way he does when thinking " . . . the hell?" I snort and answer

"Dontcha remember, wanting me to make them all sympathetic and shit showing them my scarred up tenderized back and stomach. Make 'em all feel sorry for 'ole Merle."

He turns n looks at me holding my gaze "I was pissed off at you for nearly getting your dumb ass killed, just when we get each other back, Fuckin' suicide run" Daryl said

I sigh and grunt when it fucks with my ribs and back (damn, still hurts to breathe with that stupid hole through my body healing!)

"I'm tired of them looking at me like I should be a prisoner here, Like I'm not good enough to prove my worth, earn my keep like anyone else. I know I did bad shit. I wanted to even it up a bit. Save you n save the people that mean somethin' to ya."

Daryl shakes his head then nods "damn time they realize that part of this shit is because of them leaving ya ta die on that fuckin' roof. Ya said some bad shit &amp; ya scared the crap outta them by waving your damn gun in their faces but diddn' deserve that!


	14. Fumblings & Boredom & Guns

**Life got crazy my peeps. Merle has let me know that he is really bored and wanted me to do some research on some Merle like activities. He is laughing at me because I'm a "lazy city wench". I told him to kiss my ass which just made him laugh. So I'm researching on things like hunting, weaponry. How to get better from injuries such as his; he can't sleep; how he wants to be left alone and just work on tinkering and sparring, hunting and fighting. He realizes what Daryl said was true he does need people but can they stand him?**

Daryl's POV

"Goin' hunting Merle see ya later man you ok?"

"Yah man bored as shit, gonna try to fumble my way through this broken it see what parts I can salvage"

he points with his stump at the broken pile of guns and laughs.

"I think I'll be okay for a bit man. You don't need to babysit me I wont take anyone's head off. I'm just stir crazy, I need to get outside go scare up some rats you like so much, (laughs) set some snares. Get this carcass of mine working again so I can kill those nasty fuckers" He smiles "don't you look at me like that I meant the dead ones".

now he laughs like an unhinged loon.

"You're not gonna hurt them now man are you? Can you move forward?"

He shakes his head.

"Darlyina, man didn't you hear Rick n me? I don't mean to hurt anyone, I just want to heal an' be left alone; figger out what I can get out of this fuckin' world; find me a huntin' cabin when this shit settles maybe. or maybe not."

Merle says he is better enough to start spendin' time with the others now that the worst of tha' illness is passin' and the sick fuckers are bein' nursed back to health. He throws a pebble at m' head to let me know that he needs to start huntin' and doin' things to move his healin' process along and feel useful again.

I've been spendin' a lotta time with Merle while he's waitin' to heal up enough to be back to his old self. Only thing is I think that ain't gonna happen. He's movin' around quite a bit better. Yet I can see the pain and fatigue in his eyes. I can see the dilation of his pupils lookin' like he's tweakin' again but I know he ain't. HE can wipe all pain off his expressions but I can see how he still can't walk around with his shoulders squared up the way he usually carries himself (like a Marine). However, he can move around the hallways which Hershel insists that he doesn't do alone for obvious reasons. He can't wear his prosthetic with a broken arm and his remaining part of his left hand can't yet make up for the injured bones around the bitten off fingers. Three fingers against the world. If anyone can do it; than my big brother is gonna.

His rage seems to have died down a bit, I think partly due to lack of energy because he can't friggin' breathe well enough to yell without coughing. Maybe also to the good treatment he has received from Hershel, Beth, Skya and the little kids. I'm seein' a window into what he coulda been without the decades of abuse and addiction that ruined his life. When we were little I know that he cared for me much of the time before I knew what was going on in our family.

I'm watchin' him from the hall now. I watch as he fumbles around while attempting to clean and oil some guns that ain't workin'. He is cussin' inventively but with good humor as he dumps some of the oil down his boot. He has pillows bracing his back against the wall and the table pulled in so he can spill stuff all over it being that his hand is still bandaged and very clumsy lacking the fingers.

He chuckles deeply shaking his head. Stretching his ribcage and lightly wincing rolling his frame up spinal joint by spinal joint. I can almost feel the crunching and grinding of his healing ribcage from here. He rolls his shoulders and neck as he stretches his fingers against his left leg and flexes and extends his right arm. Interestingly enough he can't fully turn his arm over on the right.

He must be missing some wrist muscles; explains some of his clumsiness. I've never been able to observe him up to now actually doing something instead of filling the air with snore or bad breath. All I've ever seen him do with that arm is stab walkers, hit stuff, brace a firearm or hold stuff down like a paperweight. I've never realized how much of his arm he lost when he sawed off his own hand.

Looks like he removed his wrist and an inch or two of his arm. He is never one to tell people what he can't do, what hurts, what scares him. He looks to the world as a machine; a rage filled, tornado of energy and fight inciting. No one has ever seen Merle like this. Laughing at his own ineptitude, learning to do things again that he only had to relearn a year ago when he cut off his hand.

Skya's little boy walks over and sits down with him. He begins to explain the basics of gun maintenance and gets him to help him hold stuff. The little boy looks scared and backs up a little then the gruff expression on Merle changes as he looks up at me and winks, shaking his burlyshoulders. He then leans over to the boy whispering something to him conspiratingly as the little boy looks over at me laughing. I blush and withdraw not wanting to spoil a good thing for Merle. I hear their laughter echoing down the hall as I go to do my own thing. It's good to know Merle has begun to bond with some others; helps me focus on keeping the group fed and protected while Merle heals.

Liam age 10

I'm so bored. I'm so bored and there's nothing good here. Only little kids so boring . There's nothing that I still like to do. I hate the food. I'm tired of eating squirrels they look just like rats. I want my old life back. I miss school, my computer and video games. It's not fair that there's nothing here for smart kids. No boys my age only Carl that freaky kid who likes guns too much. I'm scared of Mr. Merle and his brother Daryl. I like Daryl better, Merle was hurt really really bad. Everyone says he deserved it he tried to kill Glenn and Maggie, Dr. Hershel's daughter. She's nice so is Beth. I don't understand why Mr. Merle hated them so much. I mean they didn't do anything to him.

I hate this place I want my Dad and I want to go home where it's cooler. I miss Ohio. I miss my room I miss hearing the storms come off the lake. Our town has a funny name it's called Geneva-on-the-Lake. Momma cries at night and Mr. Merle watches her when she sleeps and he can't . I can tell he hurts but he never says anything about it even though he grunts and holds his chest, curling up like Aunt Sarah's dog. I wish she hadn't died she was so nice. We were visiting her when this started with the monsters, we lived at her house after she died and Uncle Mark died with her. The same day Daddy died. Momma didn't let me and Mya watch. But the monsters killed them and Momma stopped them from doing anything wrong.

She didn't get along with Daddy. Something was wrong with him along time ago. He was angry and liked to yell then he left us and went to the hospital Momma said there was something wrong with his head. That's why he was mad all the time. He yelled all the time and had to take medicine or he would see things that aren't there, he thought people want to kill him. Momma never said she loved him anymore. She said she missed who he was and that he was getting better but she wanted a husband and not a patient. She cries in her sleep a lot and complains about her allergies when she wakes herself up or when Mr. Merle pats her foot then backs away. He looks like he is a little scared of her. He winks at me though when she won't admit how sad s she is. He laughs when she snores and says that "I thought I was the only bear here. She snores worse than he does and he is loud. I still don't like how he laughs at her and won't help her when she is afraid. He stares at her and I don't know what he wants. I don't like him but I feel sorry that he doesn't have much left of his hands. It's hard for him to do a lot of things but he won't ask anyone to help him he gets mad and walks away or says mean things.

Mr. Merle turns to look at me looking at him.

"what do you want kid. You look like a goldfish staring at me like that. I'm nicer to kids then grownups. Do you know that I raised Daryl and changed his diapers when I was younger than you. He was a gassy little thing. Hated when I left for school. He was blonder than your little sister. Hummf. Haddent thought of that in years".

(he looks at his brother who still watches us and laughs for some reason).

"Maybe you could hold some things for me though. Ever use tools or a gun kiddo?"

"No Mr. Merle."

"who ya callin' Mr."

"momma says its respectful"

"might be respectful but most people jus' call me asshole. and I wont bite. you don't need to fear me kid"

Mr. Merle spills oil into his boot and drops metal things on the floor. "FUCK!"

"I know I know I'm a pottymouth. You ain't sposed to hear that shit".

"Seriously kiddo I'm not gonna hurt you or your little sis Mya? That's her name yes? I would never hurt a kid or let anyone hurt a kid. But you see I'm a mess I'm still hurt and sick but I'm getting better. I know people tell you bad shit about me n' Daryl but we ain't as bad as they think. We don't hurt kids or women. I did bad stuff but that's over now. I was angry about being tied up and losing my hand because of that, but enough of that kid. I'm not gonna' do that shit no more. I just gotta focus on healing. tryin' to get useful. So I'm trying to fix this pile of mess and maybe I can teach you a little too. I think you're as bored as I am; and I need you to hold stuff for me when I ask but let me try first. I need to get used to this again. I can't hold stuff down with my arm yet till' it heals more. So help me when I tell you but not till then deal?" I nod "Good man".

I nod Merle's kinda okay for a mean guy. He snorts and smirks messing my hair with his bandaged hand.

"Momma is a pottymouth too but she tells me to give her a time out when she swears bad"

"really kiddo? your momma is very inventive. You and your sister are lucky kids. She's tough. she needs more sleep though"

"She never could not even when we were still home. Not even when Daddy was alive. She had too much energy to sleep she would stay up writing for fun or reading or dancing. She slept on the weekends."

"where'd she go kid? Beth playing with your sister but she's not"?

"went to learn from Dr. Hershel"

"really good idea, he can teach her a lot. Its good he's passing his knowledge along just in case, being that he can't run. enough about that kid"

"Let me show you how to check a gun for bullets then ill show you how to shoot and to load. everyone needs to know. A little gun like this is perfect for a skinny kid like you or for a wounded guy like me with one hand"

**So no one has given me any reviews for a while. I would love to know what you think. It would really help me as a writer. This is my first story and I need help to know what I'm doing is right. What can I do to make it more interesting to my wonderful readers. what would you like to see from Merle, Daryl et. al. stylistically what can I do better? What will get more interest from readers and what can I do to get better as a writer. Please be kind but give me some advice and if you can some love too. I always review at least once per story just to let my authors know if they are doing it right and what their take on the characters make me think.**

**My love, ArcheryLefty**


	15. Tic-Tac-Toe Board & Homesick

**So Skya is feeling a little disconnected. She is a big observer and is kind of Merle's fly on the wall. She sees his depth what he thinks that he hides from others but when he's not boiling over in rage, he's decent if blunt and obnoxious but has a sense of humor. She also loves to mess with him more than a little. but she holds back because she doesn't know where to stop yet. She is still working through her grief and he recognizes this, trying in his own Merleish fashion to snap her out of it and get her to be present because in the world of TWD who knows how long they have. Do any of us? as always Kudos to Kirkman and AMC for such wealth of material to use however only the OC are my reponsibility as is Skya's dirty mouth (sorry). SpongeBob Squarepants does not belong to me either. he's funny but I'm kinda glad he doesn't follow me around. Thanks Nicktoons I have that song in my head now "OOOO who lives in a pineapple under the sea? . . . "**

Skya POV

I'm so out-of-place here. Ripped out of my life by the unforeseen herd of mindless savages all hungering for the last taste of chaotic life to bind their cells together before they completely fall into motionless lumps of flesh. Brought back by an ugly miracle that science would say is impossible on every level. The cellular engine shouldn't run, they shouldn't be able to move their muscles, there should be no circulation and no reaction to their limited perceptions of sight, sound, scent. They should rot quickly in the southern sun overwhelmed by the thick and insistent army of insect life. But they don't. Petri dish mishap, wild virus sex? (snort) who knows does it really matter in the hardscrabble existence my kids and I are still getting used to. We survived by pure shitty luck. Oh yes I am a potty mouth besides it makes talking fun. (snort) I remember an episode with an obnoxious yellow sponge. They called it verbal enhancements. The cartoon characters cussed themselves blue and offended everyone but the cartoonists added sounds of dolphin,s foghorns, everything but the actual words. My kids did not get why I was just crying with laughter nearly the funniest thing I ever watched. so unexpected.

Guess I'm homesick. Merle gooses me from his place on the cot while Hershel does his daily dressing change on his back and assesses his fractured arm. "whats your goddamn problem yer snorting like a pig. Ya look like ya walked home in yer brain girl. It's too late Juicy ya can't never go back ta yer life, probably not there what with that damn cold winter you like so well. Its gonna be worse this year, we'll snuggle up ummhumm", just as I'm getting ready to tell him off. he laughs his snarky chuckle Hershel gives him THAT look. "Merle, I'll thank you to talk to my assistant with respect, maybe even try to help her not remind her what she lost"

"Hey old man I'm just joking with her just bringing her back. Y'all don't know how to take me." Merle shakes his head and winces. I laugh at him "Serves you right dickhead, you go on and laugh a little more see how well that works for you."

Was it the flu the horrible flu from last winter that decimated the ill and weak, we lost so many patients, so many coming in from the hospitals dying so quickly, so many workers in the hospitals too more and more each week. I drank obscene amounts of citrus, ate ginger by the sour handfuls, My kids stayed home from school and we opted for a year of homeschooling. We finally just went on vacation down to Georgia to see my husband's family. It saved my life, but ended my husband's. A first responder always responds. That instinct is deep within our souls and the urge to give care never stops not even when we are sick too. Hershel obviously has that same instinct that wont leave me alone either. I would have had to choose between the instincts of motherhood and health professional. They often are almost equal in power, but fortunately motherhood almost always wins. And yet I have never once ran away from danger. I run toward it to defend my loved ones or my patients. I never fear for myself because of course who can defeat a mother bear. For that is who I am.

Merle and Hershel were quoting the bible at each other and I of course looked completely clueless. Merle knowing me better realized I had no freaking idea what they were doing. Hershel probably thought I was just withdrawn while Merle correctly guessed how shy I'm not.

Hershel has come down to change Merle's dressings again and has the knack of distracting Merle as he cleans his deep wound to his back. They quote passages of the Bible or other sorts of literature, sometimes I join in with discussion of Evolution, though I know nothing of the Bible. It's easy to lose track of time in the infirmary, the slant of the light and the smell of the air show that the days are growing shorter, though It is hard for me to tell being that I am not a southern native.

I know the fall skies of Ohio. I miss the crisp smell to the air and the sharp angles of the light. Everything here about the air is smoother with fewer edges of scent. The accents are even smooth and more musical than our sharply enunciated tones. Most Ohioans won't admit to an accent because we think everyone else has the accent not us. Oh no. I'm told differently on a daily basis now. (sigh) I miss my home, my yard my career, but the most important things in life are still with me. My kids. The sun and moon of my life are here and as well as expected.

At least they did not see what I had to do to their Daddy, my not so sweet but very loyal husband. Merle is like him in too many ways. I'll never admit that though. Same age or close to it, same obnoxious sence of humor with the libido of a 14-year-old boy and the suaveness to match. He is very loyal to those he loves, He is stunted emotionally by his upbringing. My husband was too, his parents were drug addicts who took turns screaming at each other and being routinely hauled off by the police. Hence the mentally ill alcoholic husband who tried so hard for so long to be a good dad and finally got back to work the year before this.

He was just turning his shit around when this happened and killed him in a wave of stanks (that's what he called them). That day my migraine saved my life. He was grilling with his brother-in-law, and talking to his sister outside. The only in-law I really adored. They were gone in seconds. Fortunately I had watched the Tv and heard what to do. I took a solid kitchen knife and had at it, before they moved, the herd had gone like locusts, stragglers stayed gnawing. I took them out. Buried them. Cried. Went back inside not to emerge for months until the stores of food was almost gone. We took the minivan and went on the road never to look back.

Merle is very pale and the light striking his back reveals the pale skin with the merest dusting of freckles on the unscarred (sadly few portions of his back) he rests on his left side with his injured (handless) side up toward Hershel. This an act of trust in itself and he has told me how he hates lying on his left side, being that he can't grasp things as well with his good arm pinned under him; I hold a Mirror so Merle can see what it looks like.

" Say Old Man, Hows the hanmurg lookin'? The grand canyon sealin' up any? (he jokes when he doesn't want to show his emotion).

He is trying to remain composure although his lines on his face have deepened, his pupils have pinpointed and his breathing has quickened. I can see the pulse increasing in his throat as well. I'm holding the supplies for Hershel as he pulls blood soaked gauze from the healing hole in his back, It's true it gets smaller and shallower every day, the color of healthy healing tissue, no signs of infection. It does indeed smell, but the smell is of healing tissue and the fresh blood that continues to seep at times; but the world being what it is, will it be quick enough to get him on his feet and able to fight again.

Hershel begins to replace the packing "maybe another week and I think I might be able to sew your back closed. Hershel moves to the other side of the bed so Merle can see him. He sits on the edge, and, puts his hand on Merle's sound arm. "you know I am starting to consider you as a friend, I enjoy our philosophical discussions. I have to hand it to you Merle you are far more than you seem on your slightly less than savory exterior. (Merle chuckles but then interrupts), "what you trying to say old man?"

Hershel chuckles shaking his head "only that I'm amazed at your quick recovery. Without a hospital, technology, and all I can provide are hit-and-miss antibiotics and nearly civil war era medical care. I'm also very pleased at your ability to get along with the people here in Quarantine. Still you may be having a lengthier recovery than you expect.

Merle shakes his head "Old man you know I've been through bad shit afore (he gestures with his handless right arm before wincing). I'm gonna make sure I heal all the way. I know about rehabbing this scarred up ole carcass. I was a marine I don' quit old man" ya done wit' my back? Merle shifts back over to his left side.

Hershel turns and gets a wet towel for Merle. "help me sit up man I hate my good arm bein' pinned"

Hershel's point of view

Merle keeps calling me old man but I can't be more than 10 years older than him yet worlds away in experience. And then he reads the good book and is far smarter and much deeper than he seems. He has a background in mechanics, and was a Marine, traveled the world. I hand him a towel for his face while we take a break from caring for his wounds. I consider him as he stares off into space.

"Okay old man I'm ready"

"Merle, do you realize that I'm not too much more apart in age from you, than you are from Daryl? What about 10 years?"

Merle cocks an eyebrow and smirks "Almost 8 years, he's in January, I'm in April"

I smile at him, joking with himself under the surface of his pain "so how old are you Merle?"

"so HERSHEL (he over enunciates my name) ya ain't tryin' to pick me up are ya. Shit man I don' even know what month it is. I ain't got no calendar"

He looks outside through the tiny window "maybe September – I need to get outta this damn room. I need to breathe fresh air again. I think I'm about 51 or 52 don't rightly know. It was just before ma 50th birthday when this all started."

"How old you pegleg?" I smirk at the new nickname. "I'm guessing I just had my 63rd birthday in August. Being that there is no calendar I don't rightly know."

"Lets fix this arm of yours" He continues to sit on the edge of the cot leaning on his remaining hand. I remove the plaster splint and move the arm through his range as he winces and shudders. "feels better. I can stand that now, bones ain't grinding no more-just hurts a little, but really weak. A handless arm is just a bitch to restrengthen; I mean the point of a handless arm is what. A paperweight?-cant even jerk off properly any more.

I shake my head and continue-things I didn't need to know. Merle is obviously getting more comfortable with me. May not be the most comfortable thing for me however. Profanity and perversion just pours out of his mouth. I don't think he is even aware. Makes him sound much less intelligent and worthwhile than he really is.

"Good. We can get rid of the splint. Just wear the sling when your up and moving but don't lean on the elbow too much yet. It's still setting up."

"Next Merle I want you to try to expand your lungs all the way and take some deep breaths". I roll up a piece of paper and listen to his lungs. I still hear some congestion but his lung sounds as though with continued moderate exercise that he will heal in time. I can see that it is painful for him to sit up all the way. I can see him gritting his teeth against the effort and pain.

The two weeks of splinting gave him the rest he needed. I note some artistic but pornographic drawings and some rather nice pin-up art. Also some geometrical drawings. Several signatures. Even a few hangman games and tic-tac-toe, interesting. Even some childlike drawings of dogs and kittens, unicorns? "Looks like you made some friends Merle if they'll get close enough to draw on you. He laughs a true laugh and looks at me sideways "The dirty ones are from my brother I woke up with him drawing on me, he was pretty artistic as a kid, still is looks like"

Skya chimes in then "My son did the geometrical ones, he and my daughter used him as a tic tac toe board before I could stop them" I look at her, her little boy is absolutely brilliant but needs to be schooled In the ways of the new world. Quiet little guy, for some reason the kids seem to like Merle, he also seems to respond to the attention; less gruff than usual.

Merle however rambles on. "I'm still a righty even if it don't exist apparently my brain- don't have sense where that's concerned. I read a neuroscience book just after I got to Woodbury; Milton (useless waste of air if I ever saw one-no passion or conviction for shit) found a book to explain why phantom pains seem so real."

"Best way to explain it is the motor cortex of the brain has mailboxes for each and every body part. Just because we lose a hand or fingers or a leg doesn't mean that the designated area of the brain stops getting messages. The brain responds to what should be there but ain't. I still wake up sometimes and try to rub my face with my right hand. I only end up hitting myself in the face with scar tissue"

"Used ta at first try to pull myself out to piss with my right when I'm half asleep. Nothing like pissing yourself because your missing your hand-not a good way to start the day. Do you know that before I made it to Woodbury that I nearly starved because I was too bled out to hunt and couldn't open canned food with one hand-took me a goddamned month to figure that out. I'm still adjusting', now I gotta start over again. How could I have been so stupid. I just wanted Daryl to be safe and for once get what he wanted, what meant something to him. Maybe make up for years of being a shitty brother tryin' to be everythin' that I couldn't be when he was little"

Skya I take it that you know what exercises to do here for his arm (she nods)

I then start unwrapping his poor hand. He looks away immediately and breathes fast "how's it look doc? Merle asks as he shudders, I respond to him "they are healing, If you can hold on a minute I will take out the sutures and you can start exercising it as best you can. He twitches as I pull the sutures out. "looks like the ring finger has a pretty useful stump, but I'm sorry son there's not much left of your little finger." He stretches his shoulders and sighs. Can I get dressed now Doc? I need to take a walk and get m' lung stronger. I want to get outta this damn room. I'm getting' stir crazy. I gotta have somthin' ta do. Its time fer me to get up ta the cell back don't ya think?

**Kudos**

**Surplus Imagination- for creatively hilarious ideas about brotherly bonding-and cast artwork-Dixon Demolition-one of my very favorites for a Dixon back story I highly recommend the read - also very authentic voices for the brothers. You inspire me.**

**My kids love Spongebob Squarepants- I nearly laughed myself sick during the episode "Sailor Mouth" I highly recommend very funny.**

**I got a review! Yay someone likes me! Thank you Guest. **

**Any reviews really help because I'm a new writer and I really want to hear from my readers just to know I'm doing the right things as a writer, sadly most don't review. But I'm doing this for fun. I always hope others will have the same ideas of fun that I do. any reviews help I can't tell you guys how very much I appreciate it. It means the world to me. It means I don't hear crickets. I'm getting the feeling that my taste in writing is different, but shouldn't be a shock, I've known that I'm a bit warped for years. I definitely see the world in a blunt but beautiful place and I like forthrightness tempered with kindness in other words a' chaotic riot of opposing forces all hanging out together. I resemble that remark. Now if I can only get the letters in the right order and punctuated. Sigh apraxia. **

**Enjoy! (sorry bout the angst of my own its been a long stressful week in more than one way).**


	16. Redneck Lullabies

Here is a chapter Dahlings - totally Merle from another's POV and he is feeling well enough to be annoyed. I think its secretly important to him how others perceive him and also his faith, even though he is a unrepentant a-hole he seems to be a well read bible quoting man but one who is not afraid to kick up his heels and cause a bit of mayhem. I also have an idea from the movie "out of Africa" a movie I saw long ago. The main character was an unusually adept storyteller who could come up with a believable story from a one line prompt immediately. (sigh) wish I could.

Im hearing crickets these days and not just because its spring. I really need some reviews I have very very few for the size of this story. I really don't know if its just Merle is not interesting (don't say its so) or am I really not interesting as a writer. I need people to tell me what you think about my writing. I really enjoy this and having a bit of an ego I want to know what I can do to make this story more interesting. I have a sence that Im doing something wrong or not enough but Im not so sure what it is. So let me know I promise I will be nice and I always write back because I appreciate you guys who spend time reading this weird little sotory of mine (smiles sheepishly).

SKYA POV

After Hershel left and Merle returned from his painful walk up and down the hallways holding his ribs with his injured arm and armed with a knife, He and I had a very lively argue/discussion about the merits of the bible versus non organized faiths. I felt that religious fundamentalism was like taking your penis out and waving it at a PTA meeting. I mean everyone knows you have an opinion but I don't need it forced on me in public. However, Merle being Merle lost track of the discussion at the word Penis; And imagining it at a PTA meeting in all its glory. Ha score one for the therapist out manipulating the unrepentant asshole.

"I just don't get why the hell you know nothing 'bout the bible?" He has taken to fixing odd items and cleaning guns with a rigged clamp to hold things in place of his right hand but as it's not an ideal thing as it causes as much swearing as it prevents. He smirks and raises an eyebrow as he watches me watching him. I'm mending some clothing that my kids have ripped for the umpteenth time. As I listen to him "It's the foundation of what folks know as right and wrong &amp; I don't care how ignorant or smart ya are everyone here takes their kids ta church, be it Baptists, Methodists, Adventists, even fucking voodoo, or snake bible thumpers. We all git raised nowin' tha Bible and you tell me ya never been ta' church what are ya Yankees heathens? (damn he must be psychic).

"No Merle I never said that I didn't ever go, I just said that I have never read nor can I quote the bible."

"Yer mother never took ya ta church?"

"Well of course she did, she wanted me to understand what Christianity is even if I decided it isn't the path I wanted to follow"

". . .the fuck?"

"First Merle I am amused how much profanity you can add to a discussion of faith and the bible, secondly, my parents were mixed faiths my Mother was an eclectic Christian and my father was an agnostic."

"what the fuck is a electric Christian? Never heard of that shit".

I actually snorted

"not electric merle, although I think I see smoke coming out of your ears. Eclectic means that you are Christian with some additions of other faiths; like for my mother she has always admired Buddhism as well and tends to be very calm and reads books by the Dalai Lama. My father thought spirituality was more important than religion. He only made it to church once or twice a year and said that it was more important to find peace around us rather than follow blindly a preacher who is equally human and flawed. Faith and spirituality he said were personal between a person and their understanding of the higher power"

"like I said FUCKING heathens"

"Merle are you really becoming angry over my take or rather my parents' faith. I haven't even talked to you about mine yet and I don't think I will judging on your angry body language"

He was up on his feet forgetting the parts he was tinkering with snorting like a bull shooting lasers out of his eyes before he realized it. Spun on his feet and stomped out of the room

"Heathen Bitch!"

"Whatever Merle, you're not even trying to understand"

I turn away from him saddened by his reaction. My eclectic Agnosticism is going to make him lose his shit. He will never understand. I was raised in a Jewish area where Christians were actually unusual, I tried Christianity for awhile and found that Paganism mixed with several other faiths added so much more. I guess I should call myself Agnostic as well judging on his reaction and what I have noticed of Hershel and his girls. I now find myself in a different culture and I almost forgot.

I came close to showing too much of how different I am. It's bad enough that I can't mask my Ohio/Maine accent but I shouldn't tell them things like I'm not Christian or that I was animal biologist before I became a therapist. They definitely don't need to know that I was a flowdancer and fire dancer for fun. And that I can shoot any projectile type weapon because it is a long-standing hobby. I should work a little harder at not being weird. Too bad weird is natural. Just as natural as my itchy scar from my ancient gunshot wound; Just as natural as my dark red hair and freckled brown skin. I need to pull back a little where Merle is concerned. He is getting better, he doesn't need me anymore. But it's almost time for him to hold up his end of our trade. He agreed to teach me how to use a gun more accurately and learn to hunt/track a little.

I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that man has no resilience for frustration or ability to think through his explosive temperament. Reminds me of my late husband John. So many ways. So many things he can't reveal his feelings or human needs, how he has to be so tough and how he expects nothing more that out-and-out survival. Although to be fair that's what we all are getting used to now. What he has always experienced, I wonder why religion set him off so much, or rather my quirky family take on religion.

Beth sidled up to me "Skya why do you care. He is just a nasty man. No one likes him. Not even his brother sometimes. My father only likes him because they both like to quote the bible. I'm not sure than Merle even understands why he gets mad so easily. Don't let him frustrate you or hurt you he is just not worth it. He is NEVER going to feel badly for how he talks or who he offends. He will never care if people like him or want him here or not. You did your part. He is healing, he has his life back and a chance to make something of it or not. You can't make him be nice or understanding or likable. Only he can do that and maybe not even him. Just don't expect too much out of him. Daryl's the only person he really likes"

So when Hershel came down earlier to see Merle for his check up. Merle mentioned that it's time for him to return to the rest of the prison. He also talked his way out of his arm splint which I know has been irritating him to no end being that he relies on his arm to compensate for the loss of his right hand to some degree. Without the use of his right arm as well as missing his right hand he is pretty limited and extremely frustrated. He is too active to handle a forced sedentary lifestyle with any amount of patience.

If nothing else a real sign that he is well on his way to a full recovery. Unfortunately it also is heralding an upswing in the moodiness and general suspicion of others including unfortunately myself. I can understand this though. How must it be for someone with very shaky interpersonal skills to be devastatingly injured twice because of people that you had been allied with. To lose his right hand and part of the left; all within the last 18 months;To be left with multiple broken bones and healing organs, maybe to never gain his activity level back. All these injuries would have killed most people.

Merle Dixon is a conundrum outwardly rude crude obnoxious, most comfortable with his survivalist but awkward and socially inept brother. Yet he has a keen intelligence for fixing things, figuring out solutions, manipulating others, and for combat. He loves to read and often chooses mysteries or philosophy and ancient history books. In his pile he chose the art of war, the bible, playboy, torso, the hot zone. Obviously not really light reading, he says his brother has a tough time reading. He had trouble with the law but yet was accepted by the marines as an elite sharpshooter "I was that good" he said. But yet his poor interpersonal skills and lack of understanding of structure landed him in the brig just days after being released from the infirmary after receiving a combat injury.

This might be the harder phase for him. Now that he is sure he will survive, he has to figure out how to compensate for his increased limitations. What might be even tougher is his limited endurance. Lungs take a long time to repair themselves especially when rehabbing a bunch of broken ribs and broken arm/scapula as well. The stubborn ass has his work cut out for him and his frustration and depression might make him extra hard to live with. Also he is not able to wear his prosthetic until his arm heals more extensively which causes massive bouts of swearing multiple times daily especially at meal time and when getting himself dressed and washed up. When fixing things he can't strap things down the way he can when he was able to wear his prosthetic. Hopefully he will be able to wear it again soon, it will just take a little more healing and a whole lot more strengthening which of course is limited by his injured lung's endurance.

He has recently started walking around the room and up the halls several times daily and he is beginning stretching exercises on his left side and allowing me to help him stretch his right fractured arm using my skills as a therapist at long last. He is a surprisingly good patient working well within his limits and being realistic about his healing process.

He is surprisingly good with the kids. The little toddler girl, Emma pays lots of attention to him. I honestly don't know why because he up until now repays none of her overtures, not being mean but not seeking her out either. I suspect she is growing on him, as I see a small smile ghosting over his features when she is around. I notice him watching her play with my little girl Mya with the same expression.

A few hours have passed since his temper tantrum. I am watching the kids play together and am telling them stories, sometimes even long-winded lies

"Skya where do butterflies come from?" pipes up a little girl from Woodbury. I have Mya on my lap and Liam leaning at my feet; I feel him already laughing knowing where this will eventually lead.

"Well fairyland of course. They transport all sorts of fairies that never grew wings you see. Some that live in people's houses that cause dust to make dust bunnies, and pepper shakers to be unscrewed right before you go to work, some that cause dogs to chase them right into a skunk or a porcupine, or to drop farts like bombs"

(here we go their parents will never let me near again).

"What! Said a little brown-haired boy. Did you say fart?"

"Umm not sure we were talking about the fairies that use butterflies right? Then yes. The fart fairy is one of the ones that never grows its own wings. Tiny you see, too tiny to have wings of its own. It has to be sneakier than a bug. It flies in on a moth and up to someone sleeping or concentrating on something and drops a fart right on them. Then becomes invisible and hides in the corner of the room. Then you fart loudly, no doubt someone will blame you for it and never will believe that it was a fairy. But you see it's a naughty fairy".

"skya are you being serious" says the little boy

"of course who else is going to tell you about butterflies"

"Other fairies that use butterflies and moths do other things like unscrew tops on salt and pepper, that's why grownups always thinks its kids who do things like that. Another one will leave crayons in the microwave or tie a laser pointer onto the dog tail and make the cat go nuts. It's always the fairies never the kids."

I hear a volley of coughing and snorts coming from just behind the kids. Apparently Merle came back while I was telling lies. He even has sweet little Emma on his lap and wiping his face suspiciously with his remaining hand.

"whatcha lookin at me fer. I don' eat lil' kids. He starts at me defensively.

"nothing Merle". "did you have any kids? Back in the day?'

"wha' sweetheart ya wanna' have some more?" he smirks trying to piss me off no doubt.

I laugh " You never give up do you? I'm trying to work out if you really actually want me or are you just trying to piss me off so I will leave you alone and you don't have to deal with me and (gasp) relate to another human being other than your Oh so social brother"

"Shit sweetheart, Don't cha know you're more defensive than I am. Carry a chip on tha shoulder of yers bigger than the whole damn prison'

He looks at me and shifts Emma on his lap wincing.

"ma lil bro loved this. (he sings in a surprisingly nice but gravelly voice)

Hush a bye dontcha cry go to sleep ya lil' baby

when you wake you will have all the sturdy little ponies,

dappled and grey, pinto and bay;

all the sturdy little ponies.

Little boy quiet boy mammas gone a hunting,

birds and the butterflies hover round his eyes

go to sleep ya lil baby.

When you wake you will have milk and eggs and a bunny.

"I don' talk bout coming up wit' Daryl much , we had good fer nothin parents. didn't teach us shit but to duck and stay outta tha way an outta tha' house when we could. But my Momma as useless as she could be she liked ta sing and had a right nice voice. She took us ta Church sometimes too." Mya comes over to Merle "Mr. Merle are you feeling better are your boo boos gone?'

He looks at me, smiling.

Ya sweetheart I'm getting better but I'm still not all better But I'm still here. Can you look to Emma fer me she needs to play and I need ta talk ta yer mom.

"I'm glad Mister Merle Momma says you Can be mean but you can be nice too. I laugh and blush five shades it's actually mortifying to hear Mya blurt out in front of Merle like that who can be so volatile at times but at other times has a surprisingly good sence of humor.

She likes you though mya pouts looking at me and Merle.

(OHT OH)

Mya go on. I'm gettin' tired an sore. You girls don't realize yer a lapful.

He snorts a little and looks at me. "love the fireworks serves ya right. Playing nice to my face but talking behind my back when I was sleeping or takin' a walk tryin' to git strong again. who ya talking to juicytits? Huh cozying up ta Prick? My brother. Spear chucker? Old man Gimpy? What next gonna sell me out let Michonne take me to the governor ifn I don't play nice say the things you want"

(enough already asshole) "really Merle" I stay with you for four stinking weeks with all the kids and you think I'm gonna do bullshit like that. You are such an asshat. For one why wait till your awake? Why not give you to the damn gov when he came back for you 3 days later? Why protect you instead and care foe you around the clock while the rest of the prison population are coughing their lungs out and I'm afraid the kids or you might be next? Why would I do any of that. It makes no fucking sence does it.?

He smirks and so do I we're both defensive idiots and we both know it well.


	17. Cusspot teacher

**_So another biggie. Merle and Skya are both being brat the kids are acting more like adults than the adults. Merle is acting Merle like and she totally calls him on it then she goes and acts all unpredicatable. some humor too. Merle is itching under his skin and he is just about ready to fly the coop and start getting back to acting like Merle and finding out if he can really be an asset or just an asshat. (im hoping both but we will wait to see what Merle says about it. next chapter will see some action now that his wounds are letting him het more active again. expect some big changes the next few chapters. maybe a bit more time between them but (singsong it will be worth it). thanks for the follows and the favorites my heart is warmed. I would love some reviews too I will even write back. I bask in your enjoyment so read review enjoy. later peeps! Oh yeah Kirkman and AMC own Merle and all but the OC. Im to blame for the profanity and the rude/lewdness. (1) the who._**

Skya

(and Merle grumps on)

I don't even know what set the doofus off but he is in rare tantrum form; venting away &amp; as suspicious as I've ever seen him. Just because we talked about him a little when he was sleeping. This from a guy who is so damn tough and can heal from the worst wounds I have ever seen. I must have hit a trigger because he is behaving as dramatic as my little girl in some ways. He must be feeling vulnerable and scared and grumpy because he can't admit it even to himself. I remember my husband used to do that when he was feeling especially bad he would blame someone else for treating him the way he felt about himself; because he didn't have the people skills to overtly handle it with others. He didn't have the inner strength to say "I'm fucking scared". So here is Merle now he knows he will live, he is working out how to approach things but not able to look vulnerable to others he can't say stuff like "I can't do things for myself the way I used to and I don't know how to rely on others, can you help me learn?"

(Big Jerk. I still like him. I find comfort with Jerky Asshats)

on he vents "Alrighty Juicytits don't go getting yer panties in a bunch. I jus don't like being talked about when I'm sleepin'. I don't really like people and its hard bein' around you folks, knowin' yer relatively decent and still worryin' if I'm gonna wake up. Maybe ya caught on that I don' trust al tha' easy. Lets face it before this shit you woulda pulled yer kids away from me and walked the other direction lookin' over yer shoulder to see if I'm following, thinkin' I'm gonna' attack ya or some shit like that.

If ya saw Daryl you would think him an illiterate redneck dumb as shit. Ya he don't read well his eyes aren't right never could deal wit' letters; but when he grew up he helped me with math stuff; always building and fixing shit. You and people like you look at us like dirt you scrape shit off a shoe with, you don't see that I started to read when I was 4 no one taught me. My Pa caught me readin' his dirty magazines one day and knocked me cross the room, never figured out that I read better than he did when I was 4. I got perfect scores on my tests but never did homework just slept in school cause I was taking care of Daryl mostly. Daryl now he never learned to read that well. the teachers passed him through cause they didn't want to deal with Pa or me; but damn if he couldn't do math and he could draw anything, fix anything, remember everything. We both were smart lil shits from ass backwards dumb as shit redneck parents but everyone saw the name Dixon and thought we were no good just like our Pa.

I had to get away do somethin' that's why I left. I didn't want to end up like Pa. I knew I woulda come back for Daryl when I could. But I knew one day I would go too far fighting the old man that's why I left. Then I got shot in the marines &amp; I got in a fight with an officer, ended up in the brig, got addicted. I was ruined when I got home the nightmares came back and then just never left. Daryl and I were drifters, I used drugs delivered stuff, Daryl worked odd jobs, construction; shit like that. We coulda been so much more if even one person had given a shit when we were kids. But no, we were Dixon kids and we were bad from the start. Is that what you think? Is it sweetheart.

I've had enough of this. Time to let out the inner brat.

WILL YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP AND LET ME TALK YOU ASSHAT.

(silence- ahh)

(enough already asshole)

I don't care who you were. We all were different incarnations of who we are now. We have all transformed into different people some of us don't recognize or remember ourselves. I do remember, and thank the gods; my skills are still useful. You still need to teach me how to track and to shoot better. Don't think I wont hold you to it because I will. So the hell with the past. We aren't those people anymore because we all have at least some form of PTSD from sheer survival mode. For the record though, because you don't know me before, I don't think I would have judged you. I never was scared of the outward appearance. I worked with quite a few druggies, as well as all other types of people, but my protective instincts might have taken over if I were with my kids. I probably would have looked you in the eye though, I've never been really successful about being subtle about anything.

I'll thank to not say too much about before and scare the crap out of the little kids. Unfortunately, (I sing) "paranoia self destroyer" (1) some big talking for a guy who says he doesn't like to hurt kids. Now what the hell; I know you're messed up from being majorly injured multiple times in a year and a half. I get that it messes with your head and takes work to get used to. I get that; but let's get it straight right the fuck now. Don't even consider messing with my kids or saying shit like that to any of us. If you do any of that again; I will remember that I am a protective mother grizzly and I will knock you down so hard that you will leave a fucking hole in the floor"

"GOT IT!?"

(he smirks at me and winks)

"Oooeee yer a wildcat when yer pissed off. Darlin' ya need to get riled up more often, yer a fine lookin woman some cushion for the pushin' mmmhmm I'm ready when you are"

I snarl at him and lefty punch him as hard as I can right in the jaw.

"shit shit shit fucking shit" my wrist just killing me and I'm jumping up and down

"Damn girl whats yer fucking problem punching an injured man, like I need another fucking broken bone shit yere strong.

"Youre not that hurt anymore you're getting better. Youre better enough to mess with me, and behave like a big doofus when you could choose to be different. I'm so tired of you messing with me. Cant you try to be kind, can't you accept that I might want to be around you find you worthwhile. Shit John why did you have to go and die."

Holy shit. I was yelling at my dead husband. I'm not even mad at merle. I'm furious at John though. Up and dying when he was just getting it together, when I was just starting to enjoy being married again after all those years of drinking and drugging he was finally clean and sober and starting work when we got back to Ohio. Unfortunately that wasnt to be thanks to a stank ripping his throat out while I was sleeping inside with the kids while we were visiting relatives. What if what if. The worlds to be had on the back of what if. I sink to floor crying swearing.

" . . . the fuck!? Darling you hallucinatin'? I'm not yer man. Shit girl what you doin' yer messed up in the head jus' like Ole Merle aren't ya? You don't know which way is up or who yer talkin' too. Gotta either be to many nightmares, too little sleep or good drugs and if that's the case ya need to share with yer buddy Merle here. He's gathered me to his lap and now we both laugh a little.

"want to talk about it (he asks)

"are you out of your gourd? Hell know I'll start crying again those kids are scared enough as it is. I'll tell you another time. Try to be less of an asshole and I will try to get your damn name right. Stop propositioning me when I'm pissed off and I probably wont hit you again. "Damn my hand hurts you got a jaw like a fucking rock. Shit I think I sprained it at least probably cracked the damn MCP shit shit shit.

"Hershel will take good care of ya but it serves ya right Wildcat"

We both laugh no longer mad. I stand up and hug him gently and he pats me awkwardly on the back.

"Enough damn talking. I gotta get moving I'm twitchin' in my skin. When this bullshit started with the plague and the dead I was outta ma head on coke most of the damn time. I can barely remember half of it. Came to after I attacked people while on a roof in Atlanta because I wanted to stir shit up. I got handcuffed to tha roof &amp; left behind in the chaos, by fucking officer friendly. Had to saw my dammed hand off to git free before the damn walkers got to me or I fried alive in the damned sun.

"I stopped the drugs in Woodbury while I was healing from mutilating myself. I started the sparring to help get around the burn. But its boozing, fightin' fuckin' riding the chopper. Most a that ain't happenin' anytime soon. Unless you wanna volunteer darling? I gotta start getting strong and moving around but I'm jumpin' outta my skin. I'm hurtin' a course but not nearly as bad as I was".

He has a point he needs to start working on himself how will he ever get his back and chest rehabbed even he doesnt get started. His body will tell him how far to push. He even said himself he has been wounded many times and he is realistic even if he doesn't give that impression. I believe he will listen to his body.

MERLE

I look in my pile on my bed for a knife, something that I can defend myself with. I'm gonna take a walk outside today. I need the fresh air I need to see what to make of my damaged fuckin' carcass. I'm not up to wearing my wrist guard for a while yet, I'm jest ' to move this fucked up arm, the ribs and shoulder-blade are getting' better but my healing broken arm just above the elbow is still too weak to throw a punch and my back wound still open, still causing me to wince. God knows I hate wincing in front of others. I also hate looking at my wrist stump gruesome looking thing, not more than a year old still bright red and purple. The burn from cauterizing it was bad, took a long fucking time to heal and longer to restrengthen. I hate even more for others to look at it cause I see them wince, which makes me feel even more like a gimp than I do.

I finally find what I'm looking for and attach it very clumsily to my pants fumbling with the belt and grunting as I shift myself, the twisting hurting my back and causing my still broken ribs to grind inside me. I practice drawing it a couple of times. My fingers are getting better I'm still getting used to my new stubs. My finger scars catch on things and bump into things, damn that's tender shit. Forgotten how irritatin' that can be.

I look around the room, Skya is swearing up a storm with her kids. She looks like she is snapping right back to her usual self but shit she gave me some things to think on. Really amusin' how bad she swears in front of those kids. Yet they seem to like me too they smile at me as I watch her and don't seem to be scared of how I yelled at their mother, I hate to think that in this fucked up world they are already used to that. However maybe before. what little she said about her life her husband seems to have had some problems maybe some drug problems and anger problems (just like me) I wonder if that's why she called me "John" by accident. Even they think she is funny. Amazing that they speak as well as they do but I think that her son has more to do with that. He really is a little genius, and teaches his sister well. Skya is trying to teach Mya to read and all I hear is graphic cussin'.

"shit shit shit will you please listen and stop fooling around? Im not saying this one more . . . oH goddammit put the horsie down and listen to me. Okay okay I gotta calm down (yeah right I will believe it when I see it). Now sound out the ph together. No it doesn't sound like the letters. Together repeat after me Oh bloody hell sit shit shit. Mya the smart little imp knows im still there looks at me and smirks before saying "Oh goddammit shit shit shit repeat after me". In her cute little girl voice that is so entirely wrong with profanity.

I laugh so hard I start crying and have to sit down as it sends spasms through my tenderized back and healing chest. Skya gives me a positively evil look and says "sure what a tough guy until the books come out". Daryl still reverses shit so bad he barely got through school to the 10th grade, great at math and making shit outta ,. Always worked in construction odd jobs nothing steady liked to work alone, used to help me "fix" cars and make "deliveries". Now figuring how to put things in a target ive never seen better, but hes never read a full book. Used to love to listen to books on tape though, best damn memory ever but he has to have them read to him first. I think his damn eyes would bleed otherwise.

I remember a similar situation when momma was teaching the damn fool boy to read. God how many times did I come home to find Daryl playing and momma passed out among the books. I listed to momma and Pa screaming at each other why Daryl turned out so stupid and me so smart. But Daryl was never stupid, his eyes just never worked for words. You give tha boy somthin' ta build or figure out ta fix, ya ask im ta remember something damn sure he will. But filling out an application or readin a road sign forget it.

I don't know how many things I had to fill out for him even as an adult. But that was back when I had a right hand and could write. Humph. To be fair ive never even tried to write lefty. I think its lucky we don't have to write any more. Not sure I could even sign my name. If we ever have to fill papers out again Daryl might just be in the same situation that Mya is. He might have to learn to read better or at least write better. Because as mangled as my hands have become its unlikely I will ever write again. He's never thought about this to be sure. He would squirm if he ever had to write for me.

I finally get myself together, stirring up dust and miasma with dust motes sparkling in the fall sun, yep the days are getting shorter. Soon the cold will be back. I leave the infirmary for the first time in almost a month. As I head up the darkened hallway I forgot how I appreciate my vision that has always been excellent at night.


	18. Bug Stew & Goldfish Grins

**_Here is a new one peeps. Merle's getting better and very antsy. Time to start working his way back into the rest of the prison. time for him to work out how to learn to get along with the rest of them. can he deal with the suspicion, can he work through his angst and deal with theirs can he prove he is worth putting up with his Merleishness. Love the reviews and thanks for continuing to read. Happy memorial day everyone, especially those of you who are in the military as well as you who are healthcare workers who are working the weekend (yeah like THIS girl!). _**

**_Bug stew and goldfish grins_**

I make my way into the main block, smelling the dust and miasma of walkers taken out of action. I never thought I would be in a prison as anything but a prisoner and I had done so more often as I should. As an effect of a horrible upbringing and an addictive personality, and loving the kick of adrenaline; I was well-known in the system, but also known for not being excessively violent. I was usually in on drug possession, breaking and entering, a couple of times on assault, but never because I had killed anyone, I never grieviously injured anyone either, nothing more than a couple of bruises or a broken rib. I was never more than a thug who liked to get high, fuck some sluts when high, I liked the feel of wind on my face and adrenaline in my veins, I loved the thrill of the chase and the exhilaration of out thinking &amp; outplanning my opponent.

That was ancient history however, I'm still not over being abandoned in the worst way possible, having to mutilate myself to have a chance of survival. None of these fools will ever get that they have caused a year worth of nightmares and sleep deprivation. Who can sleep when they dream of hacking off their own hand, the smell of their own blood; seeing the saw go through their own tendons, their own bones splintering as they sawed. The pain was beyond words and I still wake up with my wrist on fire, smelling my own skin cauterised. Lately though I have been having dreams of a different nature, the look in Philip's eye when he shot me point-blank, even more lifeless than those pathetic monsters, the feel of the bullet tearing through me and what would have happened if Daryl hadent saved me in time. I would be a vacant monster too, waiting for someone to put me down, hoping that it would be done sooner than later. The governor had seen his daughter like that and still wanted that for me, a man he had saved, appreciated, called me friend.

I remember what Daryl said when he freaked out a couple of weeks back. I remove my shirt and tie it around my waist the best I can (another thing I need to practice) so they can see all my graphic scarring front and back plus take off the wrapping off my handless wrist and show the brutal red scars for all to see. I hike my pants down a little so that puckered old ugly burn is visible over the rim of my pants without showing off my most excellent privates.

He wanted me to show them exactly how damaged I am. Maybe they would appreciate what I've been through without having to talk about it. There is a reason I avoid mirrors. I'm so fucked up to look at, I don't even like looking at me. Sure I talk a good game and I am excellent in bed. I have endurance I like to try new things and I know how to please my women. I always give in bed as good as I get, I'm not interested in pillow talk but I love to build them up to the highest of heights and watch them spiral down into the waves of their release. I don't know if it is ego or my weird sense of justice, but I take pleasure in their release. I just don't care to know them as an everyday person, but in the dark every woman (every person, especially me) is forged anew by my most decisive of weapons. Passion.

I don't hide my body from the skanks that I fuck but mostly we were on drugs together and no one really cared to notice my scars. This is different. I will be unexpected in every way possible and now I'm clean. The only unscarred part of my body (knock on wood) is my face. I've always been told that although my hard living shows in lines, I have beautiful eyes and a disarming smile. The scars on my back now must be truly horrible. I wonder if my skin so often torn open and healed poorly will even hold sutures or will I survive to die of infection. But I'm heading to Hershel before I take my walk outside I need him to redo my back dressing anyway and hopefully I will be healed enough for him to try suturing. Maybe my luck will hold and I will have time enough to heal before reality comes crashing through. I have a sense of urgency though. The governor disappeared, but he will be back. With all hope for Penny gone, all that is left is misguided revenge. His hate for the world that turned him into a psychopath and me into a sociopath, but aren't we all crazy now, how can anyone still be sane?

I come to the main area before Hershel's cell and I hear conversation stop dead. Looks like its lunchtime, I truly had no idea. I get a plate buffet style, manage to balance it on my hip &amp; my stump; start digging into the bread and stew, Maggie looks up at me with a wry look "Glad you're feeling better Merle, Daddy's been telling us that you're getting better and better. Sit over there and I'll bring your drink to you. I raise an eyebrow and give her a sarcastic wink with a smile. Several others nod at me. I notice a few are starting to wear warmer clothing, I look at the light pouring in from an upper cell window and see approaching fall in the angles of light and a minute crispness in the air that only a Georgia boy like me and a hunter can detect. My finger stumps twitch for the feel of a gun to go hunting, feeling the fresh air finally on my skin. I missed nearly a month while I was trying not to die. My body is still catching up on the missed time. I sigh in relief with seeing more light my body sorely craving the feel on my sun deprived skin.

I sit at a picnic table they have moved in. I look around as I try not to be obvious with my fumbling of the utensils. Things will be so much better when I can tolerate my blade again but it's still too heavy for my broken (but healing) arm. Still it helps to manage the food with my arm being out of the sling. There are some people I know and others I only knew in passing in Woodbury. I also see some of the kids that were with me in the infirmary, Mika I think Carl, Lizzie, I see Glen who glares at me. I smirk at him and turn away so he can see my awful back.

Hershel comes over and sits with me. "I didn't expect you to come to me. I was going to find you later. Whats with the shirtlessness?" I snort. "I'm doing it for Daryl, kinda experiment. He thought if they see my scars maybe they will give me a break. So here I am, stir crazy and on display. I also was hoping you would change my dressing before I get some fresh air. No I wont go hunting or kill any walkers yet, but I just gotta get moving a little more. I'm also sick of every move I make being watched. I gotta find out what this fucked up carcass is capable of. No better than way than just diving in".

Hershel regards me silently for a minute. "Maybe, but I just know you don't plan on going anywhere until you visit me for a dressing change, maybe even sew that back closed if you're ready. I think you might enjoy the stew, don't mind the bugs, they're probably dead by now and we can all use a bit more protein. Just don't let the legs and wings get stuck in your teeth".

I raise an eyebrow at him snort and shake my head before trying the stew. Damn him but he's right, I'm not sure if they crawled in or got thrown in but DAMN, I've never had crunchy stew. I've eaten bugs before, they're usually not half bad. I've always liked the crunchy ones best. Traveling around the world with the Marines I've eaten some strange shit. I've always been open-minded in regards to food. I'll try anything at least once. More often if it doesn't make me sick the first time around. Some joke about bugs covered in chocolate or in food. I've actually eaten them and liked them. But I digress . . .

I hear footsteps and look up to see Daryl standing next to me with a plate of his own bug stew. He nods and sits next to me. "So lil brudder, not catchin' enough game; the broads gotta flavor the stew with bugs n bones'? I can't say I mind but the pussies 'round here probably do. You spending too much time drawin on ole Merle-don't think I didn't look in tha mirror before I came up here-I know your evil ways of drawin' on a sleepin man." He snorts but I see a twinkle in his eye and he deviously looks at Hershel, who suspiciously begins coughing on his stew.

Michonne is the next to join me, sitting on my gimpy side; trying to be subtle about regarding my ugly stump of an arm while I use it to brace my plate so I can scoop food with my remaining hand. I regard her as she pulls her eyes back to her own plate. "Gorgeous ain't I", I say sarcastically not expecting a reply. she looks back up cocking her head at me like a damn bird of prey, assessing me, seeing me as she hasnt seen me before "Lots of scars-more than I thought-put yourself on the line-but not bad for a skinny white guy. Nice eyes and smile when you do. But not my type. I like em younger &amp; less STD" My brother, Rick (who is at the next table), and Hershel all forcefully pass water out their noses as if on cue.

I smirk back at her "you're not my type either sweetheart. I like 'em young, but quieter, less mouthy than you, but you look like you might be a freakin' wildcat in th' sack ummhmmm" (I start to wiggle my tongue at her obnoxiously and suggestively but bit my tongue when my brother kicked my fucking ankle). "OW ow ow fuckin' Hell!" Daryl mumbles, "watch yer mouth you useless sack of shit she helped me save yer worthless misbegotten ass" I laugh out loud snorting my own drink out coughing hard and groaning through it all as my back and chest are sent into muscle spasms and I double over hitting my head on the table. Daryl mumbles again "serves ya right ya prick".

Hershel awkwardly stands up finished with his slop, begins to make his way to his cell, looks back at me still groaning "Merle don't be too long, and put your darn shirt back on. I need to dig out your back before you go and get it dirty again". I gradually turn around when I can sit up again, watch the others watching me. I lean over bracing my elbows on my knees wincing as I put too much pressure on my broken arm. "Wha' yer expectin'; Superman I spose. Or maybe yer hopin' I just go ahead and die quiet like, so you don't have to be all uncomfortable seeing it up close. Sorry I don't plan on dying so easy. I've decided I'm not done yet. I still got shit to do. I can still hunt, and take out walkers when I heal a little more. Don't underestimate yer 'ole buddy Merle. I can still be useful, even helpful just don't ask me to do dirty work anymore, I don't have enough fingers" (I wiggle my ugly stubs at them). I enjoy seeing them blush, flinch and look away. I lean back putting my elbows behind me on the showing off my skinny belly and my large puckered burn scar on my stomach (just as bad as Skya's scar on her hip and back). I see a couple of them drop their mouths open like a school of goldfish, almost as dumb.

"Humph. Ya know I done bad things, I know that, but so did y'all to me, leavin' me on that roof. Glen, you &amp; Rick, left me helpless, a walker buffet. No one deserves that. I'm jus' wantin' do be here with my brudder. Nothin complicated, just what ya see. If'n ya see an asshole so be it. Nothin' will bring ma hand back or my digits. Glen, Ya'll healed from what I did. I'll never be the same, this mangled shit that I'm gonna have to call a hand wont never heal. You leave me alone, I'll leave you alone, we may even learn to work together a little. Just stop messin' wit' me that's all I ask".

I see a couple of mouths dropping again like dumb little goldfish, thinking to myself (Damn fools jus' don't know what to make of ole' Merle). They still think I'm outta get their sorry asses. Don't realize that I'm just here for my brother and I don't even want to deal with people who never even consider the things I know. How many of them lived with the fuckin' governor for 7 months, how many learned military strategy in the Marines. Yet they wont ever listen just because I did bad shit when they treated me like a damn boogeyman. I'm done with that shit, I'll ignore the stupid fucks and maybe they will leave me to my own devices.

I'll regard a couple of them as tolerable or maybe even trustworthy, Hershel and Skya of course, her kids, maybe even Beth. They never saw me tweakin' and crazed on drugs, they only saw me as an injured man fighting to survive. When I think about it that's all any of us want, and with what almost 6 weeks of healing I've done a lot of considering of stuff; of what is important now. To survive and keep those who matter to us breathing too, that's it for me. Most of us don't want to do bad shit but when caught up in the situation it just happens and our old lives and old rules often just can't matter when fighting for ourselves or our family. That's all that matters to me, My little brother.


	19. Pirate mouth & sewing the Grand Canyon

**Merle is becoming healthy enough to be a real pain in the ass again, the tone is changed. Now it is meant mostly in humor, often he does not come across as particularly humorous. The man just CANT resist toying with people especially his brother. He is finally going to get some time to himself-for a private guy this has been especially hard. He is used to it though, but for a man who has been in prison, juvie, the military, having some unobserved time is very important; the luxury of being able to be himself without any expectations or demands. Especially wearing on one who has been recouperating for as long as he has. It has been a very long six weeks for the silly big jerk. **

**Thank you thank you for the reviews especially ones with constructive criticism. This is like candy for me, more importantly I will learn to write better. I do plan to be making some smallish changes to previously written chapters to tighten things up and improve characterizations. I still plan to give you new chapters every week or two. Merle has been pretty insistent lately. **

**("come on Darlin' I got things to say, ya type better than I do, whatcha want from sleep anyway"). Of course even he knows he is owned by AMC (" . . .the hell"? shut it Merle I'm talking here) anyway he and Daryl tend to have potty mouths and can be very disrespectful to women and people of color. They just don't get the filth that pours out of their mouths so I apologize ("Ha likely story, yer just trying to blame me miss potty mouth" I told you Merle shut up I'm not done talking yet) Oh just read the story Merle is being very intrusive (yes I'm sleep deprived and over caffeinated). Enjoy!**

**_Pirate Mouth &amp; sewing the grand canyon_**

I then bounce to my feet lose my bearings, so damn weak that I fall back onto the table, wincing and breathing hard with pain and embarrassment, not liking the others to see my weakness.

"lemme go ya damn pussies, I just need to catch ma balance is all, shit" I curse as Daryl, and Michonne help me steady myself without a word. Tyreese, the big black one comes over.

"Hey man you're an asshole but I'm glad you're going to live. You're right no one deserves that", nodding at my raw looking hand stump and my new puckered gunshot wound to the chest.

I smirk shake my head "oooowee she can't keep her hands off me. See the ladies still can't get enough of 'ole Merle - see y'all later. I'm going to go get my back peeled".

I shake them off and turn quickly with a smirking wink at Michonne (I just can't resist goosing her, she has that sparkle in her eye) "I'll be back in the infirmary later but I can meet ya at yer cell first for a little bumpin' uglies, to thank ya properly in helpin' my lil brudder preserve my finest skills for all the ladies, whatcha say, ma Nubian Queen. Humm?"

She takes a step forward nose to nose with me, smiles that slow overly sweet smile, and grabs my balls twisting, as I go down to one knee grunting and groaning. "Not any day this side of hell will I lower myself to being used by your clap covered old as dirt self. Just cause I don't want you to die doesn't mean I will stand to be disrespected you old fool!" she drops me and I fall to the floor laughing a little, groaning a lot as she stalks off smiling.

"Who ya calling old?, I can teach ya moves you aint never dreamed of"

Daryl hauls my ass up &amp; drags me to Herschel's cell bodily, cussing at me all the way, hurting me, he doesn't get how bad hitting the floor was on my ribs, but still worth it to see that sparkle in her eye and that spicy smile.

"What is wrong with ya brother, how can you come onto her like that in front of everyone. Did you see how grossed out they were. Damn yer such a fucking idiot. Ya wont never learn will ya"

I smile to myself seeing the color creep up his neck (some things never change) He doesn't get how she understands my humor and I can take hers. He didn't see the twinkle in her eye as she handled me in all the wrong ways. I just couldn't resist. (inner sigh) Still I'm not gonna spell it out for the awkward boy. He's always been crap at reading others. Still is I guess.

"Whatcha mean Darlyina?"

"what do ya think ya big dummy"

"Piss stain"

"Fuckmented shitjizzle"

"Ass hat"

"handless Jizz Pirate" (ooo good one I taught him well)

(and Hershel goes off like a volcano)

"HEY STOP IT. How old are you two? Stop cussing like demented pirates in MY CELL. If you can't shut up Then OUT with both of you NOW"

And I notice that Daryl and I are nose to nose grinning exactly like two demented, very caffeinated pirates, in a gratuitous cussing contest; Acting all of 5 and 13 respectively. I can't say that either of us look embarrassed but we both shut up immediately; Smiling in identical ricktus grins.

_**~LATER~**_

I walk outside first time in 6 weeks since I dragged Michonne off on my ill-fated suicide run. I feel the pounding hot Georgia sun on my scruffy face and soft growing curls of my hair, I smell the heat emanating from the earth and the pungent miasma of the dead growling at the gate. I toe at the soil and watch it crumble , I listen above the growls to the incredible silence of the new world of the dead. Before we never knew the silence like it this with exception of those days following 9-11 (even I took notice of that in my increasingly drugged condition) before always the hum of cars, the backfiring of an ill maintained truck, the screaming of kids or angry drunks and crackheads. Now we have cicadas and the growls of the walkers, the wind in the weeds, fat crows feasting on the multitude of dead. Here I am enjoying the sun on my skin, impossibly still alive.

Time and again Daryl and I would venture out to the woods for the quiet, to replenish our food or years ago to find safety from our very unsafe house. In the woods and the fields there were no ambivilently drunk Mom who gave up on protecting her two young sons. There was no angry abusive drunk father looking to make up for bitterness with sadistic outlet of creating scars on young soft skin of a child or on the already prematurely scarred skin of the older child (me). The woods were safe and where we could truly be brothers, where as a young teenager I took lovers for the release of young sex when I was old enough, where I went to suffer when I couldn't stand to be stoic in front of Daryl. Where I could go when I didn't have the strength to be Dixon strong.

Now when I have the energy, I will go back to the woods to heal my aging and aching body where I can finally admit away from prying eyes that I'm mutilated and I'm scared that I never will be able to heal the way I need to. This is where I go to teach myself to hunt, fish and spar once again, If I can do this in a woodland full of walkers and enemies maybe I really deserve to survive. I will find out if I can still throw a knife, set a snare trap, figure out how the hell I can fish and hunt with such limitation imposed by my lost digits, learn to compensate by kicking the shit out of almost everything (my legs incredibly have suffered no damage at all &amp; my spine is sound). For now I walk, and climb hills and riverbanks, can I do that with poor lung strength and still healing ribs, and a hole in my back gradually filling with scar tissue. I just can't do that while others watch my every move.

I pull myself away from the wall, setting out for a walk at a moderate pace, feeling for the first time since my injury the challenge of exertion appropriate for a man my age. My lungs breathe in and out with only a mild catch on the right as the injured lung tissues expand and contract in nearly perfect rhythm, my heart rate gradually climbs, my temperature raises and sweat begins to slick down my spine stinging a little on my new sutures. I smell my own body odor and the light tinge of my healing wounds, with the light scent of blood and iron, completely unlike the sick sweet smell of infection or vomit. I'm so glad to no longer smell either of those scents about my person; like a sick dog with a maggoty wound.

I'm a bad man now but once I was just a regular man with a lot of anger, selfish, didn't know how to relate to others but not really bad. Yes of course an asshole but not really bad, good in bed, didn't need friends, didn't need a job, just made my way through the world by fighting prowess and willingness to try anything dangerous, I used to run drugs and moonshine, used to street race, I was excellent shot and the marines turned a blind eye to my temper because of my excellence of me with a firearm and my skill as a marksmen, until I felt wronged after taking that bullet through the side with no promotion and on top of that have that noncom cotton picker officer get in my face.

16 months of hard time, beatings, too much time alone my busy brain fed on myself, I hallucinated, I screamed, they drugged me because of the noise. Yep I got hooked, that was easy for someone like me. I was never the same. But after I came home and got as sane as I would ever be again, I went to the woods for peace and the therapy of my five senses. Now the woods will be my place yet again.


	20. Airgasm & Fried Bugs

**Here's a new one, Merle is starting to interact a little with others and comes off as very defensive which I'm sure he is. He also enjoys goading others, which is a very strong personality trait in him &amp; part of his sense of humor. This time he doesn't mean anything bad by it - he's joking around and no one really knows how to take him. They're still working with previous assumptions which is hard to get over and hard for Merle-who really just wants to be mostly left alone. **warning for racial stereotypes, misogynistic statements, and Merle mouth** (I just love his cranky humor). **

**He also is suffering from PTSD triggers, no one realizes it but him. He has had it all along even before the series started.**

Merle POV

I am hunting but not for meat I am hunting for strength and coordination. I'm looking for any task I can make look simple and myself look useful as I heal, gain strength, coördination &amp; endurance. This is always the phase that was hardest for me &amp; I have to face it. As many times as I have been wounded you would think I'm used to the healing process. Well shit, used to it-yes but accepting of it-not fuckin' likely. Still feel like a pussy though I know it's not exactly preventable. So I need to learn how to get used to this shit. Learn to fuckin' breathe right again without coughing a fucking walker outta my lung. The shit I been coughing up since my lung was pierced like a fish on a stick is the most vile shit I ever seen coming outta a living body. At least Hershel told me about it so I'd be prepared. Old blood and bits of dead lung from the scar tissue. Nasty ass shit. Guess no more fucking smoking for me. I done got a life long case of bullet induced asthma. Damn shit. So here I am wandering around in the courtyard after my little hike huffing and puffing worse n Hershel on that new peg leg of his. I'm hurting too of course but I can ignore it mostly; I'm getting better though.

I also want to find something to work on that is so ordinary it does not bear a second look. Something to make the pussy shits see me as non threatening and help them learn to ignore me. I end up right next to my chopper, my gorgeous Triumph. I must really have been sick because I entirely forgot my chopper that has been waiting for me in the court-yard. She is a beauty; the only "she" I have ever had a longstanding relationship with and now it is doubtful that I can ride her unassisted, I don't even have one sound hand that I can shift with. I will have to ride with someone who can use their hands and I can balance and guide the bike. I won her in a poker match from a white supremacist right after I got booted from the service.

One thing I've always been skilled at other than hunting, is mechanics. Machinery wether its firearms, cars or the sweet siren song of a finely tuned chopper. I've always loved working with my hands. Time to decide if I can work around this pitiful remnant of what used to be one of my best assets. I start by circling the beauty and surprisingly my baby bro has kept her well if not perfectly. I see some bug juice on it (tsk). Slimy lil' fuckers now baked on. I'm gonna have to really work to get that shit off. I see some walker gore even slimier than the shit coming up outta my lungs and oozing down my back. I gotta be somewhat gentle or my scars wont hold Hershel tole me that already. I whip off my shirt and start ripping the ugly stained thing into rags. I have to adjust the angle 'round my missing fingers and hold the rest down with my boot, but I get it done, barely hurts too. I start back into the prison lobby for a bucket and something that looks like a sponge. I ignore the looks at my beat-up carcass, most ignore me and go about their busy worker bee jobs; leavin me the fuck alone finally. I just nod for once keepin' my damn trap shut, finding a bucket.

Maggie raises an eyebrow at me, questioning me but waiting patiently for me to ask. "I need some gentle soap and some brushes or sponges, where can I find them"

"Right here Merle, let me fill that bucket for you" She looks at me as she fills it gathering the soap and sponge.

She smirks "Thought Daddy told you; no showers for a few days. Those stitches gotta settle. Where did your shirt go? I'm gonna give you one of Daddy's" Don't even think of refusing after all the effort and caring he put into you."

I shake my head "So let me process this shit Princess, You don't give a shit about me, You just don't want it to be a waste of time. And just in case you go runnin' to yer Daddy; this shit aint for me it's for my chopper. Who by the way is a whole hell a lot nicer to me than you are."

Maggie gets red in the face "You gotta be kidding me! Did I say that? No I didn't. Everyone here wants you to get better even if you're not the easiest guy to get along with. You need to stop assuming the worst.".

I shake my head and laugh at myself. "By the way why are you here with buffet duty. Shouldn't you and the Chinaman be looking for somewhere you haven't buried the eggroll" ( I wiggle my tongue suggestively just to piss her off more)

She snorts and looks at me kinda sad, ignoring my smartass comment. "You mean you didn't notice?"

"Notice what"

"Carols gone"

"She get eaten, Daryl doesn't seen that upset, thought he was bonin her"

"No, she killed Karen &amp; David just like that in their sleep cut their throats"

"No shit what they done to her that crazy little mouse"

"Nothing she was trying to keep others from getting sick, mercy killing"

"No shit that's fuckup but makes crazy ass sense"

"Damn, sorry she's gone. She was a hardass where you didn't expect her. Did you know she offered to slit my throat if I didn't play nice with Daryl-don't you get no bright ideas now."

She snorts again "I don't agree with what she did but I'm glad she stood up to you. You were an asshole to us, almost killed us you know; But you paid a high price in the long run."

I look at the ceiling counting the birds coming in and out of the broken windows; calming myself, I wait for my sudden reddening of rage to disperse and my breathing to return to normal (not too long ago I would have pinned her for that).

"Get this straight Princess, don't you ever suggest that I deserved that, I did that for Daryl pure and simple. That road started the day I was left for dead by Rick and your Chinaman; everyone seems to forget that just because I did some bad shit. Remember this. I gotta live this way now, but no-one can begin to understand what that was like. I'm not gonna tell you neither. Just gimme my shit I need &amp; get the fuck outta ma way, too much yapping like a bunch of old women. Christ" (she hands the bucket back to me).

I grab the supplies and hurry back out to the courtyard in a huff, my heart hammering in my chest my hands shaking, remembering the look in the governors eye before he shot me, the smell of my own blood and my lung filling up with blood. I lean up on the wall closing my eyes for a minute soaking in the heat of the pavement: listening to the growls and the silence, listening to my heartbeat as it calms, feeling my lungs fill and empty with air not blood; holding the dripping sponge in my hand.

"Hey sleeping beauty you working on your sunburn yet?" (Skya comes out to me with some water, and cocks an eyebrow in a knowing manner)

"Did a little Princess whisper in yer ear juicy?"

"I'm giving you fair warning if you keep that up you will hear me giving you a new and embarrassing name in public. I would think on that, Merle. And no, I saw you talking to her and getting angry. I was in Hershel's cell going over some training stuff. Figure you could use some water and a shirt from what Maggie said. She wants to apologise by the way"

"For what?"

"Not being aware that your different now."

"Am not"

"Are too"

"Am not"

"Merle dammit how old are you? Everybody has changed silly not just you. It's not a bad thing. We all have to, the worlds changed. Where before if we didn't keep up we lost opportunities. Its simpler now. We just get eaten now 'Finis" (I snarl at her then I shake my head and smirk at her).

"I'm gonna leave you be you obviously need some time to yourself. Glad you're finally getting some fresh air."

She winks at me. I peel myself off the wall and run a finger tip down her arm suggestively making her skin react. She cocks an eyebrow and smirks up at me, just a few inches shorter. I want to bury my face in those wonderful juicy tits. I can even see her perfect nipples through her bra and shirt. I must be finally cracking her wall. She snorts mumbling ("as if horny fucker"). I laugh as she walks away swinging her hips looking over her shoulder. I almost miss her walking directly into the wall and stunning herself smacking her face hard into the stones (ouch). I laugh. And yell "you OK Juicy?!"

She responds "Just peachy Droopy!"

OMG (I hear snickers from the tower-my brother is up there."Mind yer own shit. Darlina"

I laugh to myself (I deserve it-but she doesn't realize it IS a compliment coming from me-Sigh)

I settle in start scrubbing the fried bugs, enjoying the activity, I trade off using my hand and wrapping the towel around my stump, working through the fatigue. The bugs gradually are coming off wings and all. (maybe I'll keep some aside for Maggie's stew). Now I sit my butt down on the concrete, lying down to inspect the carborateur and chain for damage, and using my hand to do a basic cleaning to the debris. I will have to get some oil to take care of the chain. I'm smiling to myself enjoying the activity and the fact that I'm only in a little pain. I'm breathing well too. I lose myself in the activity.

I come back to reality of my stomach beginning to rumble. I look at the slant of the sun and I smell the coming dusk in the air. Damn, I was busy for a long time; at least three hours. I flex my shoulders and wince with the twinges from the ribs and arm; good pain though. I start clean my stuff up. I wring out the sponge; putting a corner under my boot and wringing the rest with my hand. I feel more flexibility to my ring finger, able to flex the middle knuckle slightly and curving the fingerless end of my hand to the task. I sit for a minute flexing my hand and my remaining digits, enjoying the soreness with the return of some movement. I gather my things and head in following the scent of cooking, hoping to join the others for dinner, (dumb Jerks). I have some dead bugs collected just for Princess, I think I will offer them to sprinkle on her food as a topping. I wonder, too much? Nah. Just right as long as I ONLY offer. (heh heh)


	21. BO & Buffet Wood

**Merle is getting back to being the nasty man that he was, his body is working better now his libido is giving him a kick in the ass. He is being a nasty nasty man in this chapter. Oh the joys of brothers! I'm writing more slowly now and there is less medical stuff, so I have to do more research for each chapter. I'm learning about hunting, trapping, weaponry, things that Merle needs to teach me prior to him telling me his detailed account of how he is getting reacclimated to his skills. He is feeling the press of time. Will he be well enough to fight the Governor when he returns? No one else seems to be considering that he Will return with a vengeance. So Merle is trying to come back from his injuries faster than may be good for him.**

_**As always drop me a note to let me know how I can improve. I love reviews (who doesn't after all)**_

Merle POV

I end up in the main hall of the prison, set up like a mess hall with picnic tables and watching the Woodbury women and the prison group buzzing around with food preparation, mixing stuff peeling vegetables, potatoes, cooking up game of some description from the smell(guess Darlina found somethin' after all). I drop my bucket; at least I already cleaned the damn thing out, still a little dirty from working on my chopper. I approach the women stealthily; enjoying the shift of their tits under their shirts and the fine melon like shapes under their pants and skirts. I have been healing for such a long time that I have nearly forgotten the simple pleasures of watching women, the many shapes that their bodies exhibit. Many body types here with Beth , Skya, Carol, Maggie, &amp; Michonne representing most of them; from nubile to athletic to petite, and curvy Beth is there flirting with Zach; I think his name is. Skya is setting the tables with her kids; her fine tits pressing up against her shirt, the nipples prominent, her hips and long legs filling out her cargo pants perfectly (I've always liked curvy women). I walk quickly around them and put my borrowed supplies away wordlessly before my rising boner gives me away (Damn!). Maggie calls my name but I slip away, not wanting to deal with her bullshit (especially not in my horny condition). It's been too damn long!.

I go to look for my brother, not wanting to listen to anyone gab until I need to go grab my food. I find his cell empty but empty is what I need. I sit down on his cot smelling his dirty clothing and the haze of my brother's stink. I look around his surprisingly tidy cell. Along with an impressive array of weaponry,I see a small variety of worn shirts, pants and boxers. He is the same size as me with pants but my shoulders are broader and I never have been able to wear his shirts. I dump his piles of stench onto the floor and attempt to handle "my problem". With memories of juicy tits and curvy hips filling out her clothing with imagining my hand removing piece by piece my face buried deep between her warm breasts; tasting her sweat running down her neck and into her deep cleavage. My tongue licks my lips imagining he deep laugh and her knowing smirk as I start exploring her body bit by bit with my tongue and my remaining hand. I snort at the pleasure of my fantasy, trying to lose myself in the images and imagined scents, finally feeling a little more like my naturally horny self. My hand lacks coordination and begins to get stiff,(similar to other parts of my anatomy) but I compensate for it and refuse to let my limitation ruin the joy of my masturbatory expertise. I force it thorough and find my release, even though it is a poor figment of what my right hand used to be able to do. I clean myself up on one of Daryl's stinky shirts and fold it as best I can. My energy is still thrumming through all parts of my body and I feel much more improved and relaxed. I'm still not ready for lots of talking at me all at once. I prowl around in his cell looking for something to fiddle with until I need to make an appearance.

I found little Merle! I hadden't thought of it for a while, not even being a possibility of tolerating the weight until now. I turn it over in my hand looking at it, seeing remnants of my blood covering the leather straps and around the duct tape securing the bayonet. I sit down and start working my still swollen healing broken arm into the metal and leather sleeve trying to work it on until it fits. But It's too swollen and I haven't used any compression wraps on my stump since I was injured. The weight makes my arm twinge miserably. Feeling frustrated and crippled, I take it back off and pull the inner leather sleeve out working my arm into that at least, tight, uncomfortable &amp; not a perfect fit but at least the still too sensitive skin is covered. I can adjust the damn thing later. I gotta retrain this useless fucking arm to be an asset, being that it is doubtful that I will ever punch solidly with my left again. I then remove the duct tape and the blade (I will be as frustrated as a cat with a bell tied to its ass when there is no more duct tape). Daryl's smell and the rhythmic picking of tape send me back, down the spiral of years until I'm younger, less desperate and whole, with a huge amount of mischief and bad decisions in my curly head. I smile at the remembrance of the shit that I pulled on Daryl and with Daryl.

I returned for leave from the Marines when he was 12 &amp; I was 20. He was just heading into puberty &amp; stunk to high heaven having no one to teach him the basics of grooming. Amazingly he still attended school, and they didn't hose him down as soon as he showed up. BO in the hot Georgia spring and early summer was no joke. Imagine it in close quarters of a bunch of 12-year-olds, some of them as ignorant and backward as my sweet baby brother. My Father also needed a lesson in grooming as he generally stunk of old booze, bitterness and sweat; but he was years past repair or caring for whatever was outside of the needle and the bottle. Such is life in the disastrous Dixon household. Daryl was feral, with big brilliant blue eyes (same shade as mine). Eyes peeping out of unkempt greasy hair and the stench of unwashed clothing. I couldn't believe the change two years could bring. Taller but still small for his age and too thin, underdeveloped, gangly, unkempt, gnawing on the edge of his thumb, quietly considering his equally unrecognizable brother, who returned from the Marines looking like the hulk.

Getting him to change his clothing much less to get in the shower was as difficult and painful as dressing up a skunk in drag. I sat on him pinning him under my superior bulk and strength, farted generously in his ear, then turned the shower on and dumped an entire bottle of shampoo over him clothing and all. Suds were everywhere, he was cussing and the most violent threats filled the air with all the inventive intelligence of my very bright but undereducated little brother; I was laughing at the ridiculousness of it all. Water flowed out of the shower and down into the kitchen below until the angry drunken monster came calumphing upstairs in his steel toed shoes and kicked me hard in the back, opening a new gash and breaking a rib. I threw my body over Daryl until my father stopped, turned and grabbed his foot leaning with all of my weight into his ankle until he howled with pain and defeat. The shower ran red with my blood and Daryl's tears. I thought to myself thank God it was only me and Daryl is still Okay. How wrong I was, how I wish now that Daryl has been strong enough to tell me what was happening to him the moment I left. I never considered that I never saw him with his shirt off that entire time I was on leave.

I taught him how to do laundry, too. I even threw in a red sock to prove my point. (I think he had pink underwear for years after that). I taught him how to drive and even wired blocks of wood to the pedals so the shrimpy little shit could reach the pedals. I taught him how to get into 1st gear and reverse then made him learn the rest with me in the passenger side half asleep and high off my ass; then we were lucky enough to get pulled over by a high school friend of mine, (officer Dipshit) he asked

"what the hell you boys doing having a little shit like Daryl driving".

I hazily replied slurring "Well officer, I didn't want to drive drunk, I know that is against the law, Daryl here is small for 16 but is learning to drive."

(If y'all believe that line of hog shit then I have a toilet seat of solid gold to sell you). Not wanting to deal with the Dixon brand of bullshit they let me and Daryl hiccup the truck away in fits and starts rather than filling out a pile of police reports on everything we were doing wrong that day. Amazingly we got home from the titty bar just fine, with me satisfied and Daryl educated; eyes as big as saucers. I remember that being a good day, too bad I was too stoned to remember it clearly.

I hear a big obvious sigh and the cascade of years fall away leaving my brothers tired face I look up at the silent form shadowing my brothers cell.

"ya know I don' sleep in there but doesn't mean I want it smellin' like yer damn jizz bro".

I shake my head refusing to rise to the bait also being too close to getting caught in the act.

"Ya stink little brother do I have to force you into the shower again" (I'm rewarded with a ghost of a smile).

"Better get yer ass down to dinner 'afore its all gone. Theyre not gonna make exceptions for yer ass yer not tha only one mending, remember all the sick ones?"

Can ya get the rest of the damn tape of the metal part of my wrist cuff. Cant quite grab it. Too clumsy.

Daryl looks up surprised; being that I've never have asked him for help not even when I lost my hand.

"Shut yer mouth. I don' wanna hear it EVER!"

"whatever man, you're too skinny ya need to eat.

I leave to get some food as Daryl sits down and starts removing the rest of the tape around my bayonet. "I'll get this done, be righ' behind ya".

I quietly head downstairs to get some food, He's right even I think I am far too thin and weak. This is the first time in our lives that he is actually bigger than I am. I run about two inches taller and 30 lbs or so bulkier with my larger build. He tends to be lanky and in a fight moves faster and scrappier than I do. That's changed for now; I'm the scrawny one.

I end up in the main hallway of the prison and a couple of people look up and greet me. I make my way over to the impromptu buffet line the last to get food, I balance my plate against my hip and load it with nameless stew, bread, peas (yeech)

I'm not a fan of eating the food that my food eats (I'm very carnivorous). Glad of the fact that the meat is in the stew and nothing needs to be cut smaller. I don't have to suffer the indignity of asking anyone to cut my food into a manageable bite size.

I sit down next to Hershel and the big black guy who nods to me, Skya is sitting across the table with her kids.

Hershel doesn't miss a beat "Do I really need to spell out what you can and can't do until your back closes completely. Don't think I didn't notice the lower half of you sticking out from underneath your motorcycle. Lying directly on. your. back. just hours after I put those sutures in. What about don't move around too much for a couple of days is hard for you to understand.?'

"Old man I wasn't moving much, didn't climb or go out of the prison grounds, didn't kill any walkers or hunt. I simply was lying down fiddling with shit on my bike. Shit. I'm not gonna ask permission. I'm gonna listen but I'll make up my own damn mind."

I get up in a huff and take my food to an empty table before anyone can answer me. The rest of the people are staring at me and I ignore them and choke my food down as quickly as possible. I scrape the remaining crap off my plate and prepare to leave when I feel a tug on my pant leg. I look down seeing Skya's daughter.

"Don't be mad Mr. Merle. Everyone wants you to get better". I take her hand off my leg not wanting to be touched right now.

"Is that so sweetheart?"

She just smiles and winks at me. Saucy little thing. Just like her Momma, who walks over to pull her daughter away from me, understandingly so given my delightful mood. Skya stares at me with a cocked eyebrow and a knowing look, she then turns to walk back to the table tilting her head at me in an inviting manner, knowing it would get me to follow. Horndog that I am, I never have been able to resist a woman who seeks me out. My temper drains from me as I return to the table with her as Hershel and Skya make room for me again.

Someone passes me a bowl of mumbles "Skya harvested these for our dessert, don't miss out" as Daryl joins us in surprisingly fresh clothing dripping wet from a shower. He drops my newly tape free wrist guard into my lap. He scoots the big black guy right off the bench, who gets up and grumbles at him, but joins the coffee skinned broad at the other table.

"Cause any trouble yet?"

"Nah. Waiting for ya"

"Grubs not bad" I wink at Maggie and smiled. She looks like she is ready to pop a blood vessel but when I complimented the food her color diminishes in her face.

I just shake my head at her defensiveness

"Sheesh, y'all need to grow a sence of humor". Bunch a sticks up yer asses. Foods good, I'm not here to cause any shit. Thanks for the berries Skya, one of my favorites"

I nod &amp; she smiles looking a bit sweaty and white (hmm not quite right). I look at her a bit too long, she shakes her head and looks back at her untouched plate.

she gets up with her kids and yawns. "I'm gonna lie down for a while"

Hershel looks at her closely too. "you okay?"

"I'll be fine I just need some space. I'm just kinda tired"

Daryl and I sit companionable and quietly listening to the multiple conversations as I watch Skya and her kids walking away;her daughter holding her hand and Liam looking back at me. Somethings up with her and I plan to find out what in a little while, but first I need to listen to the conversation here. I'm kinda out of the loop as to shit that's been happening while I was healing. I feel the need to ramp up my recovery. These pussies aren't remembering that there is a psychopath out there who hates us and wants us all to suffer. I remember the kids faces and the ghostly image of Daryl's little boy face superimposes itself. I need to think on this like the military man who I once was. How can we fortify this place and if the worst does happen and we have to run where can we go? I nod to Daryl and Hershel and silently wander off into my thoughts and let my feet take me back to the infirmary away from curious gazes. I remember what I am bringing with me. My strongest asset from before this; my bayonet, little Merle.

**_Author's note_ most amputees use stump shrinkers to keep their prosthetic fitting well and reduce swelling; at least for the lower limb. Merle's broken arm was originally misaligned and had to be reset which caused increased swelling and slower healing. He is still a bit swollen and quite weak on that right side of his, He is starting to use it to hold stuff down, but his stump is hypersensitive as sometimes happens. He also hates the way other people look at the stump itself. He needs the prosthetic because it has straps that he can stabilize things that he is working with. All in all he feels a need to get this fckng thing working NOW.**


	22. Rat Hunter & Tobacco Spirit

**I know it's been awhile but summer's here there is mischief in the air and work is crazy in real life. Merle is scheming to preserve his skin. He knows that time is short and he needs to motivate at least someone to think he matters. He will trade his knowledge for preservation. He has not been able to admit to himself that others are beginning to crack open his heart for others in addition to Daryl. OHH noo. Cannot have feelings he is a DIXON damn it!**

_**As always I want reviews. (jumping up and down like a five year old). I will take your suggestions and it will help me learn how to write better. I love attention. I also love to write. I'm so happy doing this. Merle is so insistent to tell his story; because we all know there was more the man had to say and to do. He never would have gone down so easily. He would have never walked into that trap, not the military man he was. He is not an idiot after all, just another flawed guy who doesn't use his brain.**_

Merle

After I leave the meal I wander around by myself restless and knowing I want to do something but all the things I WANT to do are off limits until my back heals better and my arm can take the weight of little Merle. I need to get my stump wrapped so the swelling comes back down. I also know that I can't do this myself. Im gonna have to trust someone to handle my stump and not make me feel miserable about it. . . Again. I end up leaning against the wall outside with an old ripped up t-shirt trying to wrap my damn stump myself even though I know better.

You wrap it starting at the wrist keeping a strong even pressure up to my elbow where the swelling is almost nonexistent, I try 4 or 5 times and sigh because I been through this before when I lost the hand. I stuff the old ratty shirt in the back of my pants, (rags for the chopper I guess). I consider the prison. I can feel that we are running out of time. I lived in Woodbury for 7 months. I was the Gov's right (or left) hand man and did more dirty work than I ever want to remember. He gave me a place, respect and a purpose and even called me friend. Then when it was time for me to be there for my baby brother; he shot me point blank trying his best to kill me and not even finish me.

He was wounded and killed all his townspeople like animals to slaughter. That kind of crazy doesn't just give up and walk away for good. He will be back even though it's taking months. So what do we do if the prison falls? We split up and save our closest ones. It's not like me to run away. I'm digging with my foot in the dirt. Watching the coils of the dirt rise up and float away on the air; it reminds me of our new place in the food chain. We are that easy to snuff out too. People need each other now. I need to find others I can live with and get along with.

Daryl obviously, maybe Juicy Tits (I'm so looking forward to her trying kicking my ass for that someday-I love a feisty woman), those kids especially the boy who reminds me a bit of Daryl at that age. I could deal with them too. The kids are helpful even if still useless. Its time I start working on all three of them. I first need to teach them how to set a snare or set a trap. My PawPaw started me n' Daryl that way and it was easier to do than use weapons while we were learning. Skya was able to find the berries and harvest huge amounts of the damn things. So she's resourceful and knows at least something about plants.

I know survival skills thanks to my early life having to hunt and gather to feed Daryl and myself. Maybe I can get them to be useful enough to survive, owe a debt to 'ole Merle, depend on him when the prison falls; anything to preserve my cantankerous old hide. Then I will teach them how to protect themselves with weapons and hand to hand. This will also get ME stronger and more able to survive. It's not if he comes back it's WHEN he comes back. I'm not gonna force others to listen to me. I will focus on myself and teaching my own how to survive better, and then they will help me survive better now that I'm somewhat limited. I just can't grab and hold things well now. Climbing a tree and getting the jump on prey or getting away from a walker. I might need help with that stuff for a while yet unless I can kick the shit outta somethin'

It's still early evening the sun just beginning to show the promise of the sunset as the shadows are lengthening. I go back into the infirmary to get some my supplies for some ideas I have from wandering the prison grounds looking at the game trails. I do see game trails in and out of the grounds. Daryl explained that more poor desperate critters are seeking refuge from the bloodthirsty walkers. The game will be pretty slim until the walkers are died off or killed; who knows if that shit will ever happen because the resource of people dying seems pretty fucking unending.

Anyway I'm sitting in tha' waning sun and painstakingly tying a noose with my fucked up digits making the job three times as difficult as it would be for novice fucking hunter. But I'm supposed to be the fucking expert even I have to admit (to myself only) that I'm nearly too damn mutilated to hunt, but that doesn't mean I have to admit that pussy-ass self realization to anyone else. Before I train anyone else which I WILL be very skilled at I have to retrain myself and bring home at least a couple of small kills. Ole' Merle the rat hunter is probably how it's gonna have to be until I get acclimated yet again. The sun feels good on my aching hide and I can't be too grumpy as no one is observing me while I practice my skills.

I also have to remember as Skya is fond of lecturing me, most people would never have survived the amount of damage that I did. I don't know if it was the whore lady luck wanting some Merle action for fucking once in my sorry ass life; or if karma owed me a huge debt because of the misery that had been exacted from me the previous year. Here I am and I better use it for something more than preserving my little brother's skin

Flashback

I smell him before I hear him or feel the gentle ghost of his fingers on the healing skin of my remaining hand. I hear his gentle twang free voice, so different than my own gravelly tones. "Son there is an art to skinning a squirrel. You need to be thinking not so much of ripping its skin off it, but helping it gently out of its little shirt at the end of the day, of course it is its last day but the little guy don't need to know that."

My grandfather, my mother's father was half Cherokee, and was a kind man to the feral kids that Daryl and I were. He was pretty old then. Mama happened late in his life and he unfortunately had little to do with her upbringing or maybe Daryl and I would have been different happier boys in a different happier house. As it was Mama settled for the ugly soulless bastard that was my sadistic Father. PawPaw smelled of honest sweat, earth and pipe smoke (not the kind of pipe I'm accustomed to, the good kind not the desperate kind). Daryl and I had one glories summer with the man when I was 12 and he was only 4. I learned to hunt, to track, to set snare traps, find edible vegetation, how to make a fire. PawPaw was a hunter and a taxidermist, a woodworker. He grew up half-breed in the depression in the closed minded south. He learned to disappear, to live off the land to support the white man's hobbies and avoid their wrath. He also made the finest furniture in the area, many brides slept in his bed he liked to joke.

I felt his hands and his curious analytical spirit guiding my hands and my voracious problem solving mind. His peace had always eluded me, finding Daryl instead; maybe it can help me at long last. "remember a noose is like a rabbit in a bunny hole, it has to guide him in, make him feel comfortable" I struggle to tie the knot with my remaining fingers, slipping through the stumps that I have not yet gotten used to, snagging on the scars and coming undone for something like the fifth time.

I breathe hard trying not to lose my temper and throw things around like an angry five year old. Holding it in my teeth I can manipulate it better but my fingers have thick scars on the stumps and poor sensation. While my smallest stump is mostly useless the remains of my ring finger still can bend a little around the splintered bones, the sensation however is minimal because the scars are still as Skya likes to phrase it "setting up"(2). With the right care the skin will soften later in the year with the return of some sensation and maybe have a useful finger again; but not yet. So I fumble my way through tying it another two times missing it in the end.

I feel him with me again, his cool sun-darkened skin against my light freckled skin (Irish looking as paddy's pig just like my fucktard of a father) "Son you're over thinking, you gotta work with what you have. Remember you're hopefully smarter than a rabbit that eats poop out of its own ass (1). Loop the noose around your foot if you need to see it to tie it. Push it into the ground with your foot if you need to. Forget what you don't have, make use of what you have. All men of nature have to do that, the only way to survive is to outthink the prey and if you can't do that you don't deserve to eat anyway." I feel his large hand patting my sore back gently, and I catch a whiff of his tobacco.

I look up expecting to see gentle brown eyes laughing out of a furrowed face. He is gone again but leaves a reminder of the fact that I was taught by the best and I can succeed at this if I just use my mind. I finally make adjustments to the noose pressing it down stronger than I used to and holding it steady with my foot while leaning over to tie it with my fingers finally successful and looking exactly as it always had. I'm breathing a little hard with my healing body complaining about being pressed against my knees, but elated that it worked. "That's my boy, my smart lad" almost silent in my mind but caught by the tail as he finally left my consciousness to sleep again in my memories. PawPaw taught me well.

I sigh in relief as I finish the second noose and a third, testing it on my foot I pull with my hand and my foot is well and caught. Just like a rabbit or a possum should be come morning. I will then begin to fulfill my agreement to trade skills with Skya for my medical care. Maybe I can get her depending on me a bit and she will be my extra pair of hands. She needs someone to help her preserve those kids. Hopefully 3 adults and two kids will be able to make it together when this ironic oasis from the dead is destroyed. Maybe if I play my "hand" right she will let said hand wander right onto her excellent tits and into her pants. God I have a taste for her flavor of pussy. I walk around the grounds finding the best trails to lay my snares, hiding them so the silly little critters find their destruction in their comfort. I take care in not disturbing the trails, rearranging the brush just at critter height. I walk carefully placing my feet exactly taking care to leave as little scent as I can and I remember PawPaw teaching us how to walk undetected in the woods. "Lift those feet boy. You don't have clodhoppers like your sasquatch of a father" you can remain undetected by game if you're not stomping blindly on limbs &amp; leaves. "So think before you place those damn feet you're not being pursued by a Chupacabra after all". My PawPaw has a dry sense of humor, very like Daryl's.

I laugh thinking of Daryl's crazy story years later after a riotous night on some really good 'shrooms. I remember him walking home that night or rather running like his ass was on fire and someone was chasing him with gasoline. I also remember the neighborhood stray coming up to beg for food. Just after the dumbass boy ran into the house hiding in his room. I was just home after being locked away in military prison. Drugs were one of the only things keeping me sane at that time. It was ironic that I was the voice of reason that night, but at least I wasn't seeing things. Never could manage his buzz or his high, my baby brother. I began to see him as lucky in that. It would have been better if I had gotten sick on the shit too. I slap at some skeeters and yawn. Damn what a long day. Got my hide stitched; walked around, cleaned the chopper, jerked one off, pissed of old friends and adversaries, and set some snares. Yep it's gonna be a good night. Maybe for once no night terrors, maybe tomorrow I sleep in my own cell for once. Or not. I've got some nice tits to watch, I just can't seem to get some privacy away from her kids. HMM.

Notes

are lagomorphs and have to digest food twice &amp; they have to eat out of their own butts to do it because of the way their digestive system is set up. No carrots are not a staple food. Does bugs bunny look the same now-thought not

2\. Scars have to go through certain set phases to heal completely. Before that process is complete you can manipulate the scar to make it softer and more pliable. You can also with massage and lotion; sometimes binding it breaks the scar adhesions and preserve sensation and function. This is especially crucial on a one handed man who recently lost some fingers. He will for a while have to compensate for his loss of sensation by watching what he does with his hand, however it will be more limitation than even he was expecting, he can't do it all just by touch. Tying anything will be a struggle. As we saw in the series he is a noose hunter and I expect a fisherman too.


	23. Notes: superbug, timeline & characters

**_Author note: time frame, the biology of superbugs &amp; our main characters_**

******_First of all this is NOT THE END. Merle has a lot more to do and say._**

_This is just supporting information and character notes that I have compiled to help me organize my thoughts. Not really part of the story; but maybe an appendix of sorts. If my information is wrong I blame it on being human and some very late nights. Like Merle I'm a voracious reader. I am not a geneticist or an epidemiologist, but have learned a little in college about viruses and epidemics and how they rewrote history. Fascinating stuff. But my knowledge is limited on this. So enjoy or skip if it's too tedius._

**Here is an unchapter (to be companion to my story) full of my research on superbugs, medical stuff, hair growth, healing timeframe, psychology, and plausible timeframe condensed by necessity due to it being a TV show. I like plausibility and want to support my story by the information that I have collected (as much as can be done with a freaking zombie apocalypse) so I've figured out a more plausible timeline, characterization etc. Yes I am a total geek, but one that has an extensive scientific background. I need functional facts that correspond to real life. Merle is not going to tell you all of this or spend time thinking about it being that he is living in his personal hell of injury, survival, and limitation. Healing after all is very hard work. He doesn't understand about viruses, he thinks that type of reading is boring as shit (Merle says that it's good for falling asleep by). Skya thinks of this stuff normally she was a scientist, before she was a therapist but her PTSD ended her career (attentional problems and partial deafness from her head injury not so good when working with crocodilians). She has some issues that Merle might recognize and understand a little too well. They are both wrapped up in themselves and each other but neither will realize this for quite a while.**

**The biology of the Zombie virus**

It was an engineered retrovirus like a cold, but manufactured in a lab, with certain nasty little additions, like a buffet. A helping of Ebola for bleeding out and system failure, the retrovirus for screwing with the DNA and rewriting itself into our own genetics. The 1918 pandemic flu for quick and easy transmission. I wonder who has all of this readily on hand in its facility? The CDC of course; making Georgia the epicenter of the outbreak; thus the reason of the napalming of Atlanta in season 1. With flulike symptoms and blood poisoning; leading quickly to sepsis and death. Carried by sputum it spreads incredibly quickly throughout a population and kills elderly, young and ill first; also the first responders, most of the medical professionals and police, firefighters etc.

Now about the retrovirus part, it gets into our cells then has RNA that flips the DNA sequence and rewrites its code into our own DNA. Like a cold it lies dormant once we survive the initial illness, then when we start to die however then it kicks our cells into gear and remakes them into itself. Voila more zombies. And we all have it, our own genetics determine whether we get it or not and maybe we get a cold for a couple of days while others get sick and die or we get a sniffle and live. That's us becoming rewritten. So on a biochemistry note the virus needs two binding proteins to kill us initially and make us first wave zombies, but if only one binds we become survivors who will become 2nd wave zombies when we die at a later date.

_Historical note_.

In the 1360s when the Bubonic plague wiped out a third of Europe there was actually several forms pneumonic plague was transmitted by sputum and killed 90% of the infected. The other Bubonic plague by the rats (bitten by the fleas, carried in their salivary glands) that died. The fleas hopped off them and hopped on their closest neighbor . . . us. (Incidentally we are physiologically and chemically similar to rats. That's why we use them so often in biological experiments). Bubonic plague killed less than pneumonic plague (not sure of the percentage), but those that died from it died from sepsis, due to blood poisoning starting in the lymph nodes, where the body will carry something to when the body is trying to fight it off. I saw on a history channel special that a certain component of the population had a genetic marker that predisposed them to A. not getting it and B. surviving it if they did. Those ancestors still can be found in that area of England today. The whole town did not lose one person back then. Some got sick and but survived. Neat huh?

**Timeline**

Merle was almost fifty with the beginning of the ZA I figure this by Reedus himself was 41 in 2010 when the first episode was filmed. For continuity sake Im thinking the ZA started in 2012.

When Merle first reappears in season three. He says himself that he hasn't seen his baby brother in 8 months &amp; he misses him. Merle is about 8-10 years older; when Daryl's Mom died in the fire he was already "gone" (Daryl was about 8-10) that makes Merle either 16-18; therefore in marines or in juvvie. However, Daryl has a lot of memories of growing up with him so Merle can't be too much more than 10 years older. I would put it closer to 8 years older, because of the wealth of memories. Therefore the age of Merle is 49-50 at the start in season 3 then he is only 8 months older so maybe 50-51.

Now Rooker was 55 when he filmed season 1 &amp; 57 when he filmed season 3 in 2012 (born in 1955) 14 years older than Reedus (born in 1969). With that age difference Daryl would not be close to him and would barely remember anything about him from childhood, Merle would have been gone when Daryl was only 4. Daryl probably would have died from abuse or been raised by someone else, therefore not being the deliciously feral, awkward Daryl we know and love. So what I'm getting at here is Merle probably looks substantially younger than the wonderful and talented Michael Rooker (who I just love by the way).

In the show the Governor after he shoots and kills Merle, then tries to take the prison this happens in about 3 days, then he is abandoned by is remaining people as the bat shit crazy rat bastard we know and hate. He then burns his town and begins to wander. Next glimpse of him as "Brian" we see his beard is as of Duck dynasty and his hair is nearly to his shoulders. We see at least 3 inches of beard and hair growth, which indicates 3-6 inches of growth. Hairdressers state that hair grows ½-1 inch monthly therefore, he was wandering for at least 3-6 months (if not more) before he found Tara and her family. Then the storyline probably take another month to month and a half to end up at the destruction of the prison (Merle has at least 5 months to recover before the show and the story Bayonet reconnect)

**Medical stuff**

Medically, at the beginning of season three, Merle's scars from the self amputation/cauterization are still early in the reformation stage. That is why they are so bright red when we get a glimpse of him without his prosthetic in that episode we reconnect with him. He has gotten used to using one hand for everything but he is still needing a shrinker for the swelling (this goes on for about a year) and is very much feeling sensory symptoms of phantom pain and maybe hypersensitivity or problems with cold as is common for nerve damage that you can have with traumatic amputations.

Therefore when he is reinjured when the governor shot him and beat the crap out of him snapping his bone just above the metal supports of his prosthetic (just above the elbow). So he has at least 8 weeks until the bone is healed and more probably due the misalignment from the forces that broke it, plus he is going to have some issues with swelling and increased phantom pain.

Phantom pain is when the brain doesn't understand that the limb doesn't exist and understands the lack of nerve messages as the body part must be in pain. So it's like have an empty mailbox for his hand (and fingers) and the brain mixes up the messages. So putting pressure on the stump (residual limb) gives the mailbox some messages and helps somewhat the phantom pain).

Therefore he won't be able to use little merle the prosthetic or stab, or lean on it for at least 3 months or more from the initial reinjury. Incredibly frustrating and disheartening to a man like Merle, feels disabled more than ever before. He at least had one good hand when he was rehabbing during season 2.

The chest thru and thru shot as I researched it will take about 3 months to heal the initial flesh and bone injury (at least 4 broken ribs, cracked sternum, cracked shoulder blade, including the arm and fingers, maybe an orbital bone too, grand total of- 10 broken bones, pierced and depressurized lung complete with scar tissue). Again strengthening will be an issue as will endurance. (This is if he is incredibly lucky- and in this story he is, misses his heart, pericardium, and aorta, arteries, and spine).

The bullet is slowed by the sternum and from the fact that the trajectory was messed up because the Gov being one eyed was surprised by Daryl and Michonne coming at him from his blind side. He turned slightly to his right to look over his right shoulder with his left eye, pointing the gun toward his left angling it subtly off of center which caused the bullet to slow slightly(preventing the bullet from breaking apart), cracking the sternum and not ricocheting all over Merles insides which preserves his internal organs and his spine. Also there was pure chaos, the governor was shot. The cronies wrote Merle off and didn't have the motivation to deal with them while they were dealing with a bunch of zombies free within their walls so they escaped.

He will have scar tissue in his lung now and will be a little wheezy for a long time to come. Also hot and humid weather or damp cold of Georgia winter could cause Asthma, Pneumonia or bronchitis which very well might end him unless he has someone who knows how to manage his care. Merle is very intelligent if self taught, so he is very aware of this. While he is mending he is reading any medical info he can get, being that he is already a voracious reader and loves libraries.

**Merle's POV and changing**

He reads people well but is lacking in social skills and patience, he is VERY impulsive and likely has an explosive personality disorder. This is why he says "Im a damn mystery to me". He has no clue he is going to act the way he does. A big part of why it's so hard for him to get along with people for any length of time especially in close quarters. Now he is going to also have more problems with his extensive psych history of PTSD, adjustment disorder, night terrors, flashbacks. He already had these problems from his history of abuse, isolation in military prison, and he never got diagnosed or treatment.

So he was more likely to self medicate and gravitate to the therapy of drugs, endorphins and adrenaline rush. Yes these cravings result in a fit, hugely active, drug addict with no ability to use his previous self help tools during the story of Bayonet (he is feeling pretty lost and scared but won't even admit it to himself). Now he is forced to change and rely on people for the first time in his life, so yes as Carol suggested he is a late bloomer, he has no other alternative.

Stats: he is nearly 6 foot, about 190 normally, but now a malnourished 165-170, usually muscular, good in bed, but never had relationships, does not know how to relate to women, says rude things purposely to alienate people so he doesn't have to deal with emotions his especially. Graying curly hair, brilliant blue eyes, engaging smile, spirited personality, caustic sense of humor, smartass, no one knows how to take him. They only know him as Daryl's, druggie psychopath brother. Missing right hand and wrist, left 5th digit to the hand, 4th left digit to just above middle knuckle.

He is not a bad guy but has no moral compass, just does what he has to for survival. He has never lived only survived, worked as motorcycle mechanic and construction but never for long due to drug and personality problems. He likes kids, being that he essentially raised Daryl, having two parents that were either abusive or ambivalent to caring for their kids. He cared for Daryl from a very young age, kept him fed learned to hunt and taught Daryl so they wouldn't starve. Also the woods were safer than home was. He knows how to care for babies, toddlers but not as comfortable with school age because he actually would have to TALK to them and not scare the crap out of their parents. Can you imagine anyone appearing less kid appropriate than Merle Dixon?

That is always his problem judged by his appearance and behavior. He is actually much deeper and more intelligent, kinder, but he is unable to communicate this for the most part other than wry looks, and body language., trying too hard out of desperation and he has no clue of how to relate and to be patient with others, he only knows how to push buttons and to incite fights.

**Skya and her children**

Stats; Skya is 47, stands 5ft 81/2 strong curvaceous build large bone structure., reddish brown hair used to be blond, but now mahogany, head to toe freckles, fine lines around her cobalt blue eyes, looks younger than she is. Could lose a little bit more weight (lost 25 pounds by starvation; kids eat first) about 170. Liam is 11 very tall and skinny for his age dark blond hair brilliant blue eyes. Mya is 8 with a tall and sturdy build like her mother, towhead blond brilliant blue eyes; both kids are struggling with mourning and adjustment to living in Georgia so far away from the Lake Erie shoreline in Ohio.

Skya is an occupational therapist, who was travelling (being on vacation saved her life and stranded her in Georgia) with her husband and children when the outbreak happened. She was visiting her sister in law in the mountains of Georgia, her migraine saved her life. And the fact that her kids don't like heat and humidity saved theirs. When the herd came through and decimated her husband and in-laws, she and her kids were quiet and inside. Her sister in law was a couponer and had ridiculous amounts of everything warehoused. Also her brother in law was a hunter who had extensive camping supplies and weaponry; their home had solar panels and generator, with refrigeration on solar energy.

She had listened to the news reports and delivered the headshots to her relatives and husband before they turned. This saved her life and saved her kids. Then buried the dead and made her home look previously ransacked. Therefore not appealing. No one knew that in the basement lived a family. After 8 months of surviving off the supplies she had to leave hoping to return someday. She broke the doors and window to make it look unappealing. This is how she ended up travelling looking for a group of decent people. She found a hunting store that had not been ransacked, and a pharmacy. He hid stuff in her van. She slept in the back with the kids being silent when needed. She even found a dead body to keep in the passenger seat.

She has extensive medical history of treating orthopedic injuries, cardiac, neurological conditions, some amputees but mostly lower limb. So she has some practical knowledge to help Merle with his recovery. She is a city girl so she is tough and won't take his crap. She also understands and is not offended by is misogynistic comments which she meets and exceeds. She has a background as a biologist too, she worked in a lab preparing blood samples and doing research but hated how out of touch she was, then she was retrained as a therapist. She really gets the biology of retroviruses, and knows exactly what she is seeing. She also knows it may be the extinction event for our species, but time will tell.

She was a dancer and a bow target shooter she also can throw a knife with some accuracy as she has performed in renaissance faires in the Lake Erie area. These skills are good ones, but she does not know how to hunt or use a gun all that well. No hand to hand combat. But she can identify berry plants and raise vegetables as she is also a gardener. Merle has agreed to train them in return to her medical care. He feels a need not to owe her, she doesn't mind a bit, wants him to need her a little, Merle also wants her to need him a little. Skya and Merle actually have some similarities that they don't realize.

She has an invisible disability, she is profoundly deaf in her left ear, and often has trouble locating direction of things by sound. This is from a head injury she got when she was shot by accident when living in New York City. She fell and hit her head on pavement when she was shot in the kidney on the right side, nearly bled out, they had to remove her kidney, two ribs and replace it with part of her hip, the skin grafts did not take and she has a severe scar with adhesions. She was planning to have it fixed as its starting to pull, but the world ending conflicted with this Did I mention she was a reptile biologist before she worked in a lab. The Head injury caused her problems in both careers and she had to leave and return to Ohio. Not so good when you are fighting for your survival. She is surprised that Merle hasn't figured it out.

Her kids are her sun and moon. Liam is her son 11 years old and Mya is 7. He is quiet book smart but needs to learn survival skills, interested in how things work. Merle doesn't understand him a bit but thinks he resembles Daryl a little as a little boy, definitely the skinniness and the quietness. Mya is the opposite, looks like and acts like her mother. In other words loud and proud large for her age won't take shit from anyone including Merle and Carl.


	24. Of Migranes & Pinky Shakes

_**Danger! Danger! Danger! Whoever proceeds with reading this chapter will find copious swearing, dirty vile stinky smut. Plethora of body fluids some nicer than others, cuteness too. Rated mature. If you are under 18 don't even think of proceeding. I'm not kidding not even a little. Merle is a dirty, dirty, smutdog, healing enough to be a manslut that we all know he is. Someone's gonna get an eyeful. Please. Please. review this is my first time writing Merle the Manslut. I'm taking lots of liberties here. I had a LOT of fun writing this one WheW! Hope I did well by you and by my wonderful characters. Again owned by AMC but invading my consciousness whether I like it or not except for the OC. (Merle laughs "Yer so full of yourself you silly lil' freak!) Lecture over. Proceed if you have the hutzpah. That is all. ~Lefty.**_

Merle

"What the FUCK are you doin here sleeping in the corner girl, it's not even sunset and here you are curled up like a mummy in the corner sleeping on the goddamn floor. You sick or something".

She opens one eye. And picks her head up off the nasty floor. Grumbling "No shit Sherlock could it be anymore fucking obvious if I puked in your lap?"

"I swear to fucking god Merle if you don't leave me alone right the fuck now Im going to climb into bed with you tonight and vomit on you and your fucking pillow. I won't be a bit sorry. Now leave me alone, my kids know better than to mess with me now too"

"Damn girl shit don't ask me to try to help you again. All I was askin you is what your problem was, geez your such a dramatic bitch."

Ack not at all liking what Im seeing. I don't understand why she is being such a goddam bitch, she usually is more reasonable than this. She's acting more like some of those goddam princesses.

I kneel down and test her for a fever and the smell of vomit waft off of her and I see puke chunks in her long tangled hair. Fortunately no fever, but she is as good as her word and pushes me hard off her to the point that I land on my healing broken arm with a bellow of cussing.

"FUCK! You vile vomit covered Bitch. Pewwwwww! Damn girl! You look and smell worse than the dead. What the hell with the damn attitude just checking to see what's wrong with you? Im not trying to mess with you. Shit Im just trying to help"

She flips over and mumbles.

"If you've ever had alcohol poisoning this is exactly the feeling except with less fun the night before . . . haven't you ever been near someone with a migraine now fuck off till I feel better"

As I painfully right myself from nearly taking a header right on top of her. I kneel next to her and rub my arm and ribs. Considering her and not understanding what made her sick so fast. (she looks pale, like I do when I've been on a three day bender, the odor of vomit is a palpable presence, kissing her face and skin with its sweet sick miasma, a sheen of sweat ghosting her features and brown freckled skin of her arms, she is curled in a fetal position on her side in her usual uncomfortable looking sleeping position, right side with right arm curled up and out to her side with her right leg straight and her left leg curled up and her left arm curled behind her back).

I can see slight movement of her hand under her shirt as she massages her hip where she has a large scar from a gunshot wound from years ago. She settles back to rest her breath coming gently but smelling anything but gentle. In a few moments the snores start. I mean where the fuck does that sound come from it can't be from her, it sounds like a walker fucking a congested bear. I go to her cot and grab a blanket and pillow. She's just gonna have to sleep dirty, and her pillow is goin to smell like puke. Serves her right for being such a vile evil tempered bitch. I throw the blanket over her back, putting the pillow under her head restraining the urge to drop her head onto the pillow. I just know she will fight me mean like a Raccoon interrupted while bumping uglies (coons fight mean with all fours), if I try to get her to get herself in bed. Im not strong enough to fight an angry hefty thing like her right now.

I walk away from her, to carry on with my project of adapting some weapons to my new and sadly not improved grip, even if I can't yet fit little Merle with my swollen stump and arm on my right. I should be able to use a pistol and a knife maybe a small axe. I have to look at weapons that a small man can use because that is about the size and strength of my hand now. I need to think about falling back on my training in Aikido with the presence of energy and use of my feet and kicks to move my opponent away from me to where I can split his head with an axe or my silenced pistol.

I get up and work through my Aikido drills working on expanding my weak lung and regaining the Range of motion in my right elbow and arm, focusing on how I would move if I could wear my wrist cuff, little Merle. I lose myself in my training, centering myself with the focused energy, healing my aching body restrengthening my bones, and increasing my endurance. I finish by trying a kada ending in a spin kick, unfortunately my back and chest can't keep up with my brain and I lose my balance crumpling into an aching pile radiating waves of pain like ripples from a stone hitting the water. I sit for a while and listen to the not so attractive snoring from the corner of the room where Skya continues to sound very bearlike

"Mr. Merle"? A light little voice begins "are you hurt again?' she continues. I groan and climb to my feet painful joint by painful joint, looking over to see Skya's towheaded daughter Mya drawing with chalk unnoticed and ignored in the corner. "No sweetheart, Im just trying too much too early I sit down on my edge of the cot, with sweat dripping off me, frustrated by my continuing pain and weakness. I stare silently forgetting my audience for a while. "Mr. Merle"?

"How long has your Momma been sick?"

"She's not sick she calls them Puking headaches . . . they make her mean".

"So I should just leave her there on the floor".

"She will get mad and yell mean things at you, if you try to help her". (She sniffles I hate kids getting shit on by their parents)

"Does this happen a lot?"

(Her face falls she sniffles and nods)

"Sweetheart does your momma hit you or your brother"

"No Mr. Merle she just says mean things"

(I look at her sweet little face grasping her chin in my hand for a minute then, I quickly drop my hand over her shoulder hoping Im wrong and I grab the hem of her shirt and pulled partially up her back-nothing)

"She pulls away from me with big eyes"

"Mr. Merle! "

"It's Okay sweetheart I was worried she might have hit you. If anyone ever hits you or any of the kids you come find me or Daryl straight away; You hear me little girl? No grownup gets to to hit a kid not ever".

"She solemnly nods with tears in her eyes"

"I'm sorry if I scared you sweetheart. I used to get hit as a kid &amp; so did Daryl. I had to know"

"Mr. Merle are you going to be mean to Liam and Me or Momma?"

"Sweetheart, why don't you just call me Merle, it's my name after all"

"Momma says it's not polite, you're a grown up and we don't know you yet.

"She does, does she? How about if I say it's more polite to call me by my name. You see calling me mister makes me think you're talkin' to someone else. No one has ever called 'ole Merle here "Mr." before."

"That's sad"

"How's that"

"No one's ever been polite and nice to you"

"Sweetheart I'm not a nice man. I never needed them to be polite to me"

"You're nice to my momma"

"Shh. Don't let the word get out I've got a reputation to uphold" I chuckle.

"I won't tell but you're still nice I saw you when she has scary dreams you sit with her &amp; rub her back."

'Don't tell my brother'

"Pinky swear?"

"Honey I don't have a pinky"

"Sorry Merle" (she blushes and looks away)

"S'ok gotta get used to being different. How bout an elbow bump? I got two of those like anyone else"

"Okay!"

"It'll be our secret. Otherwise I'm just a mean guy".

'I don't think Dr. Hershel will believe that either"

"He has to elbow bump then too"

"Like a club right?"

"Huh?"

"You know a club"

'Shit what have I got myself into"

"Merle you're a potty mouth as bad as momma"

"Told ya I'm not nice"

"I still don't believe you"

"Suit yerself short stuff"

"Im not short I'm tall"

"Shorter than me"

"Not fair you're a grownup"

"You're still shorter"

"You're still meaner"

"Thought you didn't believe that"

"I still don't"

"Then were equal"

"OK"

"I still need my elbow bump"

"OK but only if you hold stuff for me while I'm fixing things"

"Ok I'm here cause Im bored"

"Where's your brother?, I haven't seen him in a while"

"Daryl took Ian tracking"

"Good for them you know what the tools are?" (she smiles and nods mischeviously)

We sit down in companionable silence, only broken by the scratch of chalk on the cement and my asking her to hold something for me while I open and close the vise. I trim the grip of knife and add straps to stabilize it in my hand if need be until I can wear little Merle. I clean and oil my magnum and reattach the silencer to it. With Mya turning it and flipping it as I teach her about all the parts of a gun and make her load and unload it while pointing away from me and her mother. I continue to work on my hatchet. re balancing it for my grip, holding it in the vise as she draws. I slowly notice that night is falling. I notice the scratch of chalk has faded away with night and get up looking for Mya.

She is still there but asleep curled up around her long legs. She is already looking coltish, I remember Daryl at her age. He had is first growth spurt then, the year Momma died passed out in a fire, the year I was in Juvvie and couldn't forgive myself for not stopping it. He was 8, I was 16. I roll her over before I pick her up in my left hand and arm doing most of the work. She drew Walkers and me killing them with her and her brother and momma standing behind me. I can't begin to understand why she could trust me that much and only knowing me as the man everyone hates who was asleep for a month, trying not to die from my injuries. I carry her to her cot awkwardly, I was strong before I was injured but I've lost weight and strength with my injuries. Now it's hard to carry her solid little form with one hand and arm, with my ribs and healing bullet wounds screaming from the effort. But I get her to her cot uneventfully.

I look up to see Skya getting up shakily and making her way over to the makeshift bathroom that spares us no sounds as she apparently brings up her toenails nail polish and all. I'm amazed that there is anything left after she finishes. I wait for her as she comes out ready to steady her as she makes her unsteady way to the cot that she uses. I sit down next to her massaging her back and hip with my hand, putting my stump on the top end of her scar to steadily pull so I can break the adhesions and hopefully give her rest. Maybe this will serve to get into her pants when she is a whole lot more hygienic. It's been too long since I got to bump uglies.

She moans her gratitude to me and I let my remaining fingers do the walking, noticing how she shivers as my finger stump scars scrape against her skin, ridged and rough that they are newly without scabs and just healed. I feel her generous figure, with deep muscle under the slightly extra padding she continues to carry on her frame. I trace circles up her spine and beneath her shoulders under her shirt, and down to her hips and curvy ass too generous to cup with my hand but Im willing to try. I notice goose bumps rising up under her pants and her breathing slightly quickens unfortunately not smelling remotely sweet due to the remaining traces of vomit hovering around her person, making my own stomach twitch. I can't believe she is letting me do this, as crappy as she feels. I can't believe that I want to just after she puked. (Damn low standards).

I run my hand around her ribcage cupping her generous tits that I've been aching to touch for so long. They are heavy and soft but just as sexy as I imagined and gets an immediate rise out of an old horndog like me. I push her stinky hair to her other side and begin kissing her neck, nipping gently with my perfect teeth struggling to keep my stomach from joining hers on the vomit express. I hear her breath and mine quickening and my boner becomes much more prominent begging me to free it from my pants. She rolls over and begins to massage my hardening dick still in my pants. Pulling me down beside her on her cot worming her hands down my pants to grasp my most precious parts urging me on to greater stature and as well endowed as I am I'm almost grunting in pain from the restraint of my pants.

She unzips me and cradles me in her calloused hands; with the thankfully short but dirty nails (If I felt nails I couldn't control myself). Massaging my ballsack, never saying a word, maybe not caring about the lack of underwear, definitely noticing with a quirk of her eyebrow letting me know I will be harassed about it later. I'm not caring feeling her heartbeat through my scarred ribcage, the rhythm of her heart catching up to the pace of my own. She flicks her nails up and down the underside of my dick, bringing my urgency to a head almost too quickly. I grab her hand to slow her down so we can enjoy it longer. It's been too long for me to have the control of the skilled lover that I am. I smell my sweat and hers beginning to mix with the undertones of vomit and prison dirt.

I worm my hand into her pants underneath the crease of her too soft belly while wrapping my wrist stump around her upper back to support her, feeling the soft hair of her pussy on my hand and the wetness therein; she is sexy as can be. I like the fact that she is a natural woman down there. I've always liked a woman's hair all of it. I like her smells, the fragrence of her deepest parts wafting up out of her pants combining with my scents as our bodies combine in passion. I tease her nub increasing her wetness and grinding my finger stumps into her clit just in the right spot to elicit a broken off moan as she grabs my shirt and pulls it down to the top of my chest and nips my skin right on several of my scars from childhood.

The skin is less sensitive there but can still feel the strength of her passion through her teeth. She is massaging my dick faster and faster with me getting harder and harder, my precum wetting her fingers, my fingers grinding harder into her nub and her clit, her wetness soaking my fingers urging the both of us on. I lose control and bite her hard on the nape of her neck tasting blood as she groans and I come spasming filling my pants with my passion, overflowing onto her cot, smelling the salty scent of my release. I continue massaging her as she becomes more and more wet, her skin changing under my fingers her clit filling up with her fluid her breathing quickening and her tongue drawing patterns on my scars. Biting me as she crashes down into her release.

We roll away onto our backs me flinching with the contact of the bed onto my still healing throbbing back wound not caring a bit that I feel the telltale signs of blood oozing down my back that I might have pulled some stitches (hopefully just sweat). Not caring a bit that her weight is too much for my still healing right arm fracture. I feel more whole now than I have since I was injured. I don't care if I damaged myself slightly. We are thrumming there with our hands down each other's pants as Daryl and Liam burst in with a bunch of tree rats. Daryl screeching to a halt with the smell of smut palpable in the air and the evidence plain to his eyes and Liam's. Skya bouncing up from the cot too quickly but not quick enough and bringing on another bout of nausea from the movement, running to the commode vomiting down her front before she gets there. Ugh so nasty. Unfortunately I'm not much better as I turn away trying to get my zipper up quickly with my clumsy hand and pulling my pants over the evidence. Daryl and Liam waiting as I hide the evidence in my painfully slow manner, reeking of smut as I turn to face the both of them.

DARYL

Liam and I come into the infirmary after a nabbing some squirrels, Merle's gonna tease me about getting yet more tree rats as he likes to call them (he hates to eat them, having way too many when we were kids trying not to starve). Liam was the one to get them. It's about time he takes an interest in hunting and I took him out to the forest just at dusk the way Merle did for me when I was way younger than Liam. But that's not his fault that he knows nothin'; a city boy and a northerner to boot. It's good to see him feel so proud of himself and though painfully nearsighted he has the reflexes of a budding hunter. He can be silent when asked and taught how to move in the woods. I normally hate taking these ridiculous pampered city folk with me. Liam isn't like the rest of them he doesn't need to fill the silence with meaningless words.

I am looking forward to seeing his pride as he shows his mother his success; four squirrels the first time. I hear grunting as I walk down the hall, the tingle of wrongness creeping up my back as I expect to see a breach and a walker feeding on my brother (still so weak and starved looking), or Skya though I can't imagine either of their stubborn asses going down so easy. I push Liam behind me as I raise my crossbow and give him my hunting knife for protection. I emerge down the log hall into the light of the infirmary and see something that makes my blood boil. There's my asshole of a brother biting the shoulder of Skya smelling like the day after a bender. Smelling his cumm twice in one day both times unexpectedly not pleasent, bringing me back to when he just came home from the military drugged out of his head fucking anything with a pussy and tits.

Now he sees me, flipping her off the cot trying to get his dick back into his pants his missing fingers making it impossible to do quickly or well. Skya is up off the floor puking down the front of her shirt, running to the commode. (the fuck!?). Now I gotta fuckin explain my loser of a brother (that I love and hate but would die to protect) to this naïve 11 year old boy who just narrowly missed seeing him use his mother after she fucking saved his sorry worthless life. I tromp over to him ready to own him injuries or not and hear his casual drawl.

"Heeey little brother did you get them tree rats or did yer lil' protégé? Ummmm lovin' me some rat stew!" Ian startles himself out of confusion from the odd scene in front of him approaching my reeking brother puffed out his scrawny chest and proudly said

"Those are Squirrels Mr. Merle and you know it. And I hunted them for my family and for yours. Daryl showed me how to shoot them down so they are mine but you can have some. I'll let you."

Merle cracked up from the ridiculous situation; smelling his own overpowering stench, hearing Skya vomiting disgustingly, seeing Liam's chest puffed up with pride and the little girl Mya snoring oblivious to it all. Watching the thunderous expression continue on my face, loving being the center of all that drama. My brother stirring it up as always but for once not from the desire to hurt, but in his own warped way wanting to be a part of things. (he snickers groaning in pain as his ribs kick him before I can).

I growl "serves you right fuckhead!"


	25. Tree Rats & Nature Lessons

**_I've always loved to see characters in mundane activities too. I get more of a feel for them as people. I love to have the brothers interact and tease each other. Sorry for the long hiatus peeps. Coming up you will see, more activity from Merle finally well enough to move around more and get used to prison life but then again he is Merle so we all know he is going to mess that up at least a bit, he loves his drama does our Merle. PLEASE REVIEW! I Need to hear your thoughts. I do plan some tweaking of earlier chapters. ENJOY! ~Lefty~_**

Daryl POV

He is a real opportunist, my brother. He also has never made much sense even to himself; being the impulsive unpredictable, Jack ass that he is. I was still stunned that he found a partner in crime in Skya. She seemed to have much better judgment than to allow him to use her in such a public place. So here I am pushing Liam behind me so he wont see his mother's " just fucked look" and my brother turns away to put himself together (damn he's clumsy now). She pops off the cot; faceplants bounces up and runs to the bathroom vomiting down the front of her shirt (the fuck?).

"The hell, Brother?"

"She's not feeling well"

"No shit Einstein. What yer doin to her?"

"We did it to each other, man"

"In front of kids?"

"Nah. The little one was sleeping &amp; he was gone with you. None yer fuckin business anyway, Yer actin' like an old woman. Darlina"

"Humph"

"It just happened, shit man y'all got a stick up yer ass so far yer stomach should hurt. So go fuck yerself why the hell ya judging me?"

He gets up with his pants zipped and his shirt off baring his horrible looking back, He waits next to the haphazard bathroom stall that gives nothing left to the imaginations as the worst ever sounds of retching emerges. I watch him watching the emotions play across his face and consider the changes I see in my very warped brother.

The first is that he allows any emotion on his face at all, usually a mask of sarcasm or anger, never what you would call true feeling for others, but here I see concern in his face, He waits by the latrine door, swaying back and forth in discomfort. He is healing as well as can be expected from what Hershel and Skya have told me .Im actually surprised that he survived this long, that he didn't die of blood loss or infection. He is able to stand upright now and bring his shoulders back into his "marine stance" I see him do it (grimacing with discomfort) now that he is aware that Im looking at him.

"Whatcha starin at lil' brotha"

"Nuttin"

(Sure as hell not gonna admit that I been starin at his newest scars, and remembering where the constellation of old red scars came from. He carries and shows the scars that I never show, the shame that I try to hide, I was a child, raised by a similarly mistreated brother and later abandoned by the same. I feel embarrassment that his back looks so much worse than my own. I sometimes forget how he took so many beatings for me. I try like hell to lock those memories away. Just like he became an addict to deal with the shit at home then he got pulled into the dealing too.

"Right, yer full a shit ya little pussy jus like always".

"Hey man did you forget there's a kid standin here?"

He looked at me again and smirked at me n' Liam

"So kid tree rats huh? That's what I started Daryl on when I was teachin' him ta hunt. You look like ya did okay for the first time. Now ya gotta clean them, He'll show ya that next. There's an art to it"

He looks again at the door, knocking with his hand,

"Skya ya diving in the damn commode or ya gonna hibernate in there?" Holding his stump tightly around his ribs breathing fast

"Shit Merle Ill come out when Im done, leave me be dammit"

Skya seems grumpy as hormonal hibernating she bear. Merle better watch it or he's gonna have his gimpy ass handed to him sex or no sex.

He comes back over to Liam and I and crosses his sore looking arms, raising his eyebrows sarcastically

"So ya gonna show the kid how to prepare tree rats or ya jus gonna let them rot? Take em over ta tha table over there, show him what Paw Paw showed us"

I take his suggestion while he sits on his cot leaning back on the pillows on his good side watching us with a smirk his eyes tumbling back through his memories to the summer PawPaw took us in and showed us how to live off the land. Daddy never liked my Mothers relatives; he hated the Injun shit as he called it. My Cherokee heritage is what saved me when I got lost in the woods and when my drugged loser of a father couldn't bring money enough home to feed me. I survived on "tree rats" and plants and bunnies, groundhogs, snakes you name it. Georgia has a wealth of wildlife and plants if you know 0what to look for and how to hunt.

"I bring my attention back to Liam and the tree rats, Um squirrels.

"As Merle told you there is an art to preparing a squirrel, you must never waste the gifts that nature gives you, and we honor it by preparing it right.

(I hear a snort which I don't pay attention to)

"My grandfather who I called Paw Paw used to say we skin it not like a nasty dead body but a gentle little animal who we would help take his little shirt off at the end of the day,'

I smile at Liam's unconvinced look

"You start by giving him some room in his shirt by laying him on his tummy pinching his skin and making a small cut. But mind don't cut into the meat. That's why ya gotta think like your making his shirt roomy before you help him outta it.

(I show him how ta pull the skin in opposite directions)

"It's like dividing him into shirt and pants, then you pull his shirt off, (I flip the squirrel over and lay him on his back)

"Then you remove his little wrists and head. You remove them by cutting around them like so but take careful of the tufts of hair still located near the wrist. My PawPaw said that these tufts of hair are scent glands, and ya leave em on can make the meat have a bad taste. Get rid o them. Do I got that right Merle?" I say as my nosy bastard of a brother creeps up behind both of us for a closer look.

He snorts, "I still say they're tree rats, and they'll keep you alive, ya just gotta limit yerself or ya might turn halfway into a rat like my pussy lil' brother did"

At this Liam looks horrified and leans around me looking at my butt as if he expects a tail. "You're joking Merle I don't see any tail or fur on him"

"Nah kid I said HALFWAY. He still looks human enough but he lacks the conviction that a Dixon man should have" He chuckles leaving that comment in the air.

He can only mean that he doesn't think I looked hard enough for him when I knew he was out there badly wounded newly missing his hand. He also is probably right. I found it so easy living with the group, not having to deal with my brother's twisted brand of love. I forgot that he was out there hurt, maybe scared. But I only remembered him leaving me, not waiting there for me, not trusting that I would come.

Dammit Merle I did look, you were gone! "Will ya stop bringing this shit up? I looked for ya every time I went hunting. I left notes every place I went. Will ya move on already"?

He grunts as he lifts his right hand stump covered with leather but still showing the angry skin of his scarred stump. "How hard is it do ya think brother to move on like this. I hit my face with the damnable thing every morning when I wake up and try to itch ma face; -Yeah man moving on is REAL easy"

"Shit ya ruin every good moment with this shit. Ya think I don't feel angry when I see you have to do things differently. I hate what you have been through. But I just want ya back, my brother, just to hunt with and protect these city folk with, they'll get used to ya, just stop messing with them, just help us all, you got a lot of skills, injured or not. Now shut up man and help me with the rats, Liam will hold them for ya right kid"

Liam nods and asks "Merle are you half rat too like your brother?" he says in his clipped Northern tones

(at this Merle make what only can be a -yuck face-he has reason to not like the taste of squirrel. My Paw Paw laughed so hard when Merle had eaten squirrel with the scent still in em)

. (I deftly remove the feet and head with my knife). Then I start on the bottom half

"Okay Liam now we take his drawers off. No not Merle's pants, pay attention here kid Im talking about the damn squirrel and don't start calling the damn thing a rat! Come on kid focus, Merle is just trying to mess us up."

He likes attention that way he can't help his damn self- never could, my brother.

"Now back to the squirrel stop looking at Merle" (who's grinning like the big fool he is)

"Pull the lower portion of the skin down to the ankles &amp; carefully cut off the feet. So ya see just like getting him outta his pants like we do"

Liam looks at me wryly and smirks "yeah Daryl except where's your tail I thought that Merle said you had one"

Merle actually chokes in laughter and leans on the table rubbing his ribs, saying

"Shit kid you got him there, don't ya know that's why Daryl looks like he has a big ass, hiding his tail, my brother"

"The only big ass is the gimpy one that is messing with us while Im trying to show you how to prepare game, maybe he could make himself useful instead"

I hint broadly to Merle that he needs to help or get the hell outta ma way.

"Okay okay ya little smart ass you're doin the next one so ya better be payin attention to ma lil' brother (he winks at me) He's better n me with this shit"

Now he shuts up chuckling to himself happy with successfully messing with me as usual, showing his affection in his teasing warped fashion, he then silently walks over to his cot finding Skya curled up there, eases himself down leaning on her as he grunts slightly in discomfort as his healing bones kick him.

I continue FINALLY

"Pull the skin the rest of the way off the tail. "no Kid yer doing this part ya jus gotta get used ta critter blood, at least its clean blood" to my surprise he goes white under his freckles and actually does it, maybe him taking pride in getting' those squirrels is making him want to prepare them too.

Okay kid this part is harder I gotta show ya this, yer doing better than I did. I watch as Merle groans turning over then sighs and lies down on his cot, his breathing slowing as he watches me instruct Liam as he once instructed me, a small smile playing along his mouth. He snorts as Skya wakes from being leaned on looking pale but better, she too watches me showing her son how to prepare squirrel. I look at her and cock an eyebrow at my brother, she snorts under her breath and shrugs, lightly blushing her answer.

Liam is looking up at me expectantly yawning but ready for more instruction.

"Take the knife and just above one of the back legs, where the leg meets the body, split the butt and break it open (Liam starts laughing when I tell him Im gonna split the butt bone). "This will make a hole just above where the tail is."

"Now pay attention kid ya gotta be careful with this next bit. Merle wasn't shitting when he called it an art. Ya carefully split the squirrel up the full length of its body 'till ya come out the neck (just like yer drawin' on him while he's sleeping). Gotta be careful not to cut the guts, or the meat will be ruined or taste like shit. If ya get some guts on the meat, ya need to rinse the meat with water, and I mean quick."

"Heads up Liam ya can do this next bit, I'll hold the knife with ya make a cut on the outside of the butt bone",

He makes sure cuts in the squirrel's butthole just like a natural; giggling like any other 11 year old boy who hears the word Butt.

"Good ya got that right - hey ya got a good touch for a city kid."

He pays better attention now that he has control of the knife again.

"This will open up the tail more, allowing you to get to all of the tail. Cut the tail off".

"This is the gross part little man; ready ta get dirty?"

(I just barely hear "eww" from Skya and her steps as she walks to a corner of the room with her blanket)

"Take your hands and reach inside the cut you made along the belly. Start in the chest cavity and pull guts and all out. It all comes out clean in one pull if yer lucky if not it'll taste like shit.

You are now left with a nice clean piece of meat.

"Now watch me carefully cut off the arms behind the shoulder blade, see here where Im cutting? Then you take your knife and cut the back legs off as well. Cut them along the hip bone; see that line between the body and leg. All you have to do here is slice the meat all the way around the leg so it loosens up a little, then just twist the leg off."

Now I cut the squirrel into two halves. Make your cut right where the ribs end. The rib section won't have much meat on it, but if put into a stew, the meat that is there will fall right off the bone and tastes really good. Take the other section of the body along with all of the legs, fry or bake and season to taste. Merle's wrong Squirrel is tasty if you prepare it right and it can keep us from starving especially when the dead kill the stuff living on the ground like the rabbits and deer when they're in a herd

I look up to hear Merle's smart assed comment and see him passed out on his cot snoring his many times broken nose right off his damn face. I'm amazed that he can breathe through the damn thing at all. Skya is curled up in a cool dark corner in a blanket like a sick dog snoring gently herself.

Okay kid let's get through the rest of these and we will give them to someone to cook in the morning. I can see you're tired just like your mom and my idiot brother. I roll Merle over to where he is quieter and prop him so he won't roll back onto his injured side. Hopefully he will sleep through the night, he had a big day today and knowing my brother he hasn't admitted to himself that he is exhausted from pushing himself too damn hard.

I walk back to Ian ready to prepare the rest of the Squirrels and find him slumped on the table asleep, I pick him up and ease him into his cot with his sister, then returning to prepare the remaining squirrels before finding my own rest, as the morning comes early and I have to check Merle's traps too.


	26. Aladdin's Chili Buffet

**_So Merle &amp; Skya got the dirty/naughty on while Skya was in full migraine nausea mode. She was a lot nicer than I would have been. I don't think the characters in TWD get laid enough and it's usually only Glaggie; or the psychopaths and those with bad taste in men. I always thought sex makes you relaxed and nicer? Merle is almost functioning again but his prosthetic won't fit because of the swelling and the fact that he has been neglecting it since he was injured. He makes assumptions about her &amp; Skya HATES assumptions. In her way she is equally broken as Merle but it's invisible. Please read and review. It's been a long time since any of my readers reviewed. BOO Hoo _****_L_****_. I'm glad you're reading, but I really need the warm fuzzies (even if it's one word) and some constructive criticisms. I do understand I have a quirky view of what's interesting. I plan a general tweaking/condensing of the whole story once the weather gets cold. For now life is busy and kids drag me through a whirlwind of sports practices. ENJOY peeps because I love channeling Merle. _****_J_****_Lefty_**

**SKYA POV**

The light hits me and I gradually wake up, the first thing I notice is my stiffness. It looks like I slept on the floor last night. Brain damage sucks. I have an old head injury and it causes migraines when I get too tired. I had a horrible migraine yesterday and behaved damn near like I had a hangover, vomiting here there and everywhere. I'm mortified that I screwed around with Merle and nearly had Liam see me mutually masturbating with him. He is a confirmed horndog and I needed some touch therapy after all the misery of the last year and being in such close contact with him for most of the last month. He is badly damaged, but still sexy in a rough around the edges way, with a surprising depth and intelligence. Mortified as I am, in the moment he was wonderful and exactly what I needed, gross as I was, I'm amazed he tolerated my complete lack of hygiene. My first business of the day is to get a shower &amp; feel somewhat cleaner. I look and smell like a baby dragon crawled into my mouth while I was sleeping and used my mouth as his potty chair then used my hair as his toilet paper. I REEK!

My hair stands up on its own and for hair as long as mine that's quite a feat; I look at the kids who are still sleeping in the early morning light. If I hurry I can get a shower and get back. I plan to look for a cell, later today its time I get us integrated in the prison population and find a place far enough away to have some privacy . Merle is curled up in a ball lightly snoring. He had a big day yesterday and he must be exhausted.

I take a moment to consider him while I try to brush the dried vomit out of my hair. My headache is gone and that is a good thing due to how miserable I treat all people who have any dealings with me when I'm like that. The biggest problem is that I have only vague memories of what I do in that condition. I'm getting through the snarls but it's gonna look like an animal had a shedding party. Merle is lying on his broken side which is an indication of how much he has improved since I arrived. Early on he could never rest in his favorite position; since he prefers to curl up on his right side, probably due to his lack of a right hand. In the morning light he shows the hard wear on his pale skin, but the usual hard planes are smoothed and I can see why "the ladies" prefer Ol' Merle as he likes to call himself. He's a misanthropic asshole. He also is surprisingly loyal, well read, and introspective. His biggest flaw is not that he is a huge jerk, but that he never benefits from his own skills, due to sabotaging chances that will surely benefit him.

I write him a note letting him know I went to the shower to divest myself of the aura of last night's vomit (never a good scent but stale vomit does not like fine wine improve with age). Hopefully he and the kids will be asleep when I get back. I walk down the hallway to the showers although cold I look forward to the clean feeling with the exuberance that comes the day after the misery of a migraine. Although I'm weak from how sick I was I feel full of over the top energy. I chuckle to myself remembering how my coworkers in the nursing home had a hard time handling my excessive personality on those days. The water taps out a rhythm on my stinky hair and skin, percussing the energy into my system and ensuring that I will be handful today. It's a good day to begin building rapport with others in the cell block. I sit in the showers combing through my hair relishing the fresh smells emanating from my hair. Watching goosebumps raising on my skin feeling the air kiss me all over.

Merle although much kinder than people give him credit for is still deeply damaged and may not be capable of a loyal relationship based on either friendship or sex. I can't use him for sex just because I'm still in my prime and have had no reasonable offers since John died. I'm not going to jump into anything just because I have impulsive tendencies. I must consider that I have two kids that count on me. Hopefully Merle will live up to his reputation of not caring beyond a one night stand, however pleasant he is in bed there is more to consider beyond that he draws me in.

"You're not twenty years old dammit your 45 you have a brain godammit use it."

The dripping shower just laughs at me and calls me a slut (true I know. I have to say that Im highly sexed and proud of it). However I'm equally proud of my brain (even damaged that it is), intelligent and bursting with sarcasm and restless energy. I'm not going to sell myself short just because the world as we know it is gone and is never coming back. I owe those kids more; they are my sun and my moon, my world rises and sets with them and around them.

I come back into the infirmary and my kiddos are sitting there watching Merle sleep. They have drawn whiskers on his face and a smiley face on his forehead. He is going to lose his shit when he sees himself.

It's time that I distance myself from him. I don't think he can be dependable enough for me to try to bond with. My horniness with him scares me. I like him but I don't want to. I want him in bed but I can't go there for the sake of my kids. I can't alienate the others I've not given them a chance yet. I don't want to shoot myself in the foot. Merle needs to find out for himself that he needs other people but he can't be forced to that conclusion. I still mean for him to teach me some survival skills though.

"Merle, wake up. Its morning."

He wakes up and bumps himself in the face with his right hand stump, snorts at it and shakes his head. (dust motes dance around his heads like fairies teasing a cat)

"Yep every damn morning I hit myself in the nose with my stump. Once a righty always a righty. Even if ya cut the damn thing off yourself. Yer looking pleased with yerself, Juicy, ya smell better than puke at least"

"Thank you for such a kind and thoughtful compliment Merle. Your romantic suaveness astounds me. But dammit stop calling me that name. He snorts, his eyes laughing

The kids are laughing, pointing at him

"What's so funny?'

"The kids drew on you Merle while I was washing the vomit off. I almost felt sorry but now Im thinking it was premature karma. Believe me they will be punished today and you get to decide how they make this up to you. Just no feeding them to anything."

"Damn it gimme a mirror. "

"I wish we had a mirror but we don't. you have cat whiskers and a smiley face. But they will come off in the sink. In fact I wish we had a regular shower with hot water and a real bathroom (sigh)."

"He looked at me with sarcastic humor sparkling in his eyes".

"Shit girl if wishes were farts this place would be a fuckin' chili buffet. If Aladdin hisself offered me one I'd run the other way. All we got here are bad wishes come ta life. Damn girl I WISH I had two hands to feel your tits with but I ain't likely to sprout new fingers any fuckin day soon. (Chuckles sourly)"

I feel my face coloring up at the misogynistic slurs. (IN. FRONT. Of. MY. KIDS.) I turn away with my arms crossed as if Im going to walk away. I take one step to disguise my intent and whirl around putting my weight into slapping the living shit out of his face. However I forget his expertise in martial arts and he catches my hand in his pressing me against his chest with his stump.

"Careful girlie he drawls, yer dealing with a marine here. I could se ya comin' a mile away; ya gotta hide yer intent better. Yer face gave ya away too with ya coloring up like a damn tomato. That one's free. Next time. I'm gonna make yah pay. Maybe get another feel of those wonderful Juicy tits I like so well. Hum. That could be intrestin. What ya doing acting that way in front of yer kids anyway. Dontcha know better n that?

"Damn Merle you make me so angry. You were talking adult talk where my kids could hear you idiot! You're such an asshat. You can insult me and expect me to want to cop a feel of that weather beaten old carcass of yours. Dream on. I don't put out to people who disrespect me".

He bends down and kisses me on the cheek feeling my breasts with his stump pressed against them and whispers so my kids don't hear, they are giggling

(Sotto voce) "Hah. Yer a wildcat in the sack anyone will come out of it bleeding but wanting more. Ya acted like yer in heat, like a damn pampered housecat bored with her groomed tom looking for an alley cat that knows how to handle her claws. Now admit it ya like pain jus a little and ya like it dirty a whole lot. Ya don't get to hit me jus cause ya don like the truth said plain like. Ya forget girl I know you. My body knows you. All that time you touchin me, the nights you curled up wit' ole Merle cause you fell asleep watchin me."

(he lets me go with a smirk and knowing flick of his tongue against his lips, filthy-minded-redneck)

(I yell into his face) "Are you crazy Merle just because I can talk to you without exhibiting homicidal tendencies doesn't mean I want to you to hump me like a lackwit dog. Sure Im impulsive well obviously. I had fun Im glad you did too. Im not doing this, or DOING you as the case may be. Just because our world ended doesn't mean I will allow you to objectify me and get away with it. No freaking way". (I'm pacing with angry energy to the amused and surprised faces of my kids, still unsure to be afraid, watching my reaction).

"Get out of my way I have things to do"

"Like what"

"Find a cell for me n the kids"

"Oh yeah"

"Yeah" (nose to nose like two 10 year olds grinning at our ridiculous behavior)

"And then what. You go back to everything used to be. You fly back north on the back of a fucking unicorn. Your life is just waiting there right. Look around princess. The world ended NONE of us are who we were, you included. Neither are your kids".

Mya sings "I get to ride a unicorn I get to ride a unicorn"

"What could you possibly know about kids Merle? You never had any, right. Your brother tells me you were too busy flitting around like you were part of the wind never dependable."

"No. You of all people don't get to judge my past. YOU didn't have to raise your kid brother. You didn't come home from school at 8 years old and find your starving baby brother sitting in his crib covered in shit alone in the house when your parents were passed out god knows fucking where."

"Merle what's the problem you're better now. It's time for me and the kids to start getting to know the other people here. I know Beth a little and Hershel a little but you most of all. You're acting like I shouldn't get to know them. Isn't it time for you to do your thing too. You did great yesterday, diddn't you?"

"I just don't trust them at all. Darling I know it's hard ta believe; but I don't like people very much. It's hard to be around people other n' kin. I can tolerate you and yer kids a little cause I didn't get no choice and ya kinda grew on me. Sometime I tell my own damn self to shut up cause Im getting on ma nerves. Huh".

"It's time I help them out too, continue my training with Hershel. I could use your help though. Teach me and the kids survival skills."

"Ya think I need ya that's it, think I'm too crippled to survive; is that it darling? Fuck me; ya might be right, but I don't need to hear it from some broad who thinks she's smarter than ol' Merle. I always been my best on ma own."

"Merle what's the deal. You were doing your own thing yesterday. It's time to rebuild our lives don't you understand. I have two kids that depend on me. I can't distance myself from people I have to get them to want me there for the good of my kids. I can't do it on my own any more. You should see that too."

"You go on girl. Make friends with those pussies, if that's what pleases you. I'm gonna stay away. They screwed me over too many times, cause of them I got crippled. You just watch yer back, girl. You know, officer friendly, he's unbalanced; more of a psycho than even ol' Merle is here. He'll go behind yer back. Leave you for the dead to eat. That's yer officer friendly".

"Merle?"

"What girl. You had a taste of Merle you can't give him up so easy. You liked it you know you did. I made you come. You want more n' the taste you just don't wanna admit that. You willin to take care of ol' Merle when I'm asleep or weak. But now that I'm getting back to myself ya don' wanna git yer hands dirty, is that it? I know you are now. Nothin changed has it."

"What are you talking about Merle?"

"Back in the day if you went out with yer friends you would a seen me in the bar with my biker shit on. Drinking or dancing with a bitch you would have looked anywhere but in my eyes. You wouldn't have danced with me even for fun. You would have never taken me home even if you weren't married."

"Your romantic terminology is overwhelming no wonder you were single –"

"I'm not done you need to listen (now he paces)- If you saw me on the street in town you would have been like all the other married bitches with kids. You would have looked at me, seen my twisted nose, my uneven jaw. My biker leathers. You would have crossed the street, avoided me, assumed I was gonna eat yer kids. Not given me the fuckin time of day. Just because what you assume. That's who you are; I just didn't see it before. Fuck me sideways"

Mya singsongs "Merle has a potty mouth, Merle has a potty mouth &amp; mommy too"

"You son of a bitch. Is that what you think really? Who are you to judge me? You don't know me. You don't know anything about me before. Yes I had a good life. But no if you had talked to me I would have looked at you. If you had smiled at my kids and asked their ages I would have answered. You fucking DARE to make assumptions of me. You barely know me. I worked in the inner city damn you. I worked as a therapist sure, yes I worked with old people. I worked with people detoxifying too. I worked with mentally Ill too. "

"Juicy-" "Fuck you Merle now you listen and shut the hell up. I am not the pampered princess you assume I am. I lived in the south Bronx. I took the subway. I got shot in central park and fell on concrete. I was brain damaged in that fall. I will never hear normally again. You think I haven't had it rough. Are you shitting me? Do you know who saved me? A motorcycle club guy who happened to be a medic in Vietnam. Looked horrifying to most people but he was nice enough to save my life. You didn't know that did you. You never asked did you."

"Juicy-"(I grab his shoulders hard, pulling him close, nose to nose and make him stop and listen, tears coming down my face, the sun dusting his features, the kids sitting in his cot listening in shocked silence, never having heard what exactly happened when I was shot so long ago, in a completely unlucky event; wrong place and time, NYC 1990)

"Nope not done not by a long stretch. Why do you think I get headaches like I do? Because of my head injury. I can't hear a sound out of my left ear. My eardrum was destroyed, my jaw was broken, left parietal lobe was damaged. It changed me and I was young, I never had the chance to be normal. The gunshot destroyed my right kidney and lower ribs. That's why have scars on my hip and lower back. The worst part is what you can't see. I have poor balance; I get horrendous migraines and I'm out of my head when I have them. I act like a bitch and I'm mean to my kids, my friends. I hate how I must have treated you and Mya yesterday".

"Skya I didn't know OK. I'm an asshole. I'm the first to admit that. Shit why didn't you tell me."

"I hate talking about it. Merle I want my kids to survive. They haven't had a chance to live yet. I need you to teach us survival skills. I want to learn how to fight, use a gun. Live off of the land. I feel that we don't have much time until that psycho returns. The others are scared but they aren't planning what to do when he comes back".

"Girl you're the only one talkin' sence. You help me get this swelling down in my arm and restrengthen so I can wear Lil' Merle again. I'll show ya how ta fight. I'll get my brother to help."

"Who is little Merle and where is he".

"Ha! No one told ya? That I call my cuff and blade little Merle. My arm got too swollen I need to keep it wrapped so I can fit it or resize it. It's time that I stop being such a goddamn pussy and I'm much more capable with my cuff. I'll take it easy trust me (he rolls his eyes and snorts at his own sarcasm).


	27. Lil' Merle & Onion Peels

**Merle is getting a whole lot better (healing takes a long time especially for these types of injuries, and not being exactly a young man anymore). Merle is tough, now he is ready for the next stage in healing, he's heading toward trying to fit back into his old role of tough guy, but he has yet to acclimate and he is learning a whole new type of toughness. One of making the incredibly difficult seem effortless &amp; another new skill is the yet unmastered- learning to mesh with a group and how to not be a jackass. As always the wonderful characters here except for the OCs belong to Kirkman &amp; AMC. **

**OH yeah Merle's best art form is profanity, he has mad skills. If you don't like pottymouth stay away from Merle (he snorts and raises and eyebrow saying "damn girlie like they can't figure that shit out for themselves").**

**Thanks to my kind reviewers: .someday &amp; MaryPrayther, You make me more motivated and thanks for the idea. Therefore, read and enjoy~~**

Merle POV

"Mamma are you coming? You said were going to get out own cell and I want my own bed", says Liam impatiently

"Yes honey why don't you get your little sister and we will go ask where we should look, I know you're antsy here. It's time for us to get to know the others too".

Skya quirks a brow in my direction asking if I'm Ok.

"Yah darlin' I'll catch up with ya later, y'all take a knife with ya, an use it like ol' Merle showed ya, right? Skya you got yer gun?

She snorts "Yes of course" (she bows sarcastically, smartass bitch, I can't say I don't admire her caustic attitude)

I sit down for a minute, gathering my hatchets (I repurposed two, straps included to improve my weakened grasp). I run my stubby paw through my tangled and filthy curly hair, too much longer &amp; Ill look like bozo the clown. I hate clowns freaky bastards!

I hunt around under my cot, healing ribs grinding slightly as I lean over too far, but I grab what I was looking for, the leather cuff and Lil' Merle. I'm determined that I'm gonna fit my useless ugly stump into my prosthetic. I gotta get fit &amp; toughen up again. I try to work the swelling in my stump up toward my elbow. I push on my skin, scars and all with my remaining fingers; I hate the feeling in my arm stump and the rough scars that are still so sensitive almost a year later. It's still hard for me to look at &amp; still impossible for my mind to grasp. I get angry every time I see my abruptly ending stump, still red just like the (Fucking) day I cut off my hand and cauterized it to stop myself from bleedin' the fuck out.

I sigh "Not gettin' anywhere here. I gotta get someone to help with my damn arm. Shit."

I look around for a clean bandage; I find one unrolled but relatively clean on the makeshift table near my cot,

"Soon I won't need these damn things anymore, won't be a wounded mangled up pussy for much longer" I mumble to myself and the dust motes dancing around my head.

"Think I'll go find Hershel" Can't do this shit myself, &amp; he knows how to fix an irritated stump".

I gather up my bandages, my leather cuff and lil' Merle &amp; stuff them into my small shoulder bag, swinging it to my weak shoulder wincing as it bumps lightly against my back). Shit I'm as touchy as a hound dog at a flea circus.

I walk up to the main cell block, listening and looking for all I'm worth. I walk down the hall stirring up dust motes, smelling the afterglow of disposed of walkers. Just a slight tinge of rotting corpse in the air, something that we barely notice anymore, like we barely notice the less than subtle aroma of manure in the spring. I'm noticing so much more now that I'm clean of drugs. All of my senses are rebounding.

I squint in the light as I amble into the light of the main block, I hear the sounds of life, boring as shit sounds of people goin' bout their day: lil' asskicker crying, the clangin' of the nameless women from Woodbury cooking (at least the batshit crazy bastard diddn' get them all, neither did the damn bug,) Maggie is sitting with Glenn and he glares at me but looking sheepish at the same time, they're just finishing their meal and they pointedly leave as soon as they see me (suits me)

I look around for Hershel or my brother but don't see either of them; I crane around looking in the top level as Daryl walks up behind me.

"Sup Merle"

"Hey brudder, ya seen the old man?"

"Ya alright man?"

"Ya bro, jus need someone with two hands to wrap my stump."

"The fuck you do now? Shit man aren't you fucked up enough?"

"Sorry I even said anything man shit. I just need the damn swelling down in my wrist; I'm starting to use it again but I can't get lil' Merle on."

"Ya don't think yer little too old for imaginary friends?"

"Fuck you man. I mean my wrist cuff and blade. Gotta strengthen this damn useless right side again. Was doin' fine till the governor . . ."

"Yeah you were doing great till ya nearly fucking got yer sorry ass killed. Let's go somewhere else man, can ya still climb &amp; are ya well enough ta try? By the way ya traps got three rabbits. And you call me rat hunter, humph I got em before they ran off again. Ya slept in too late man, yer still off brother."

"Shit man ya shoulda let me do that. I start pacing, those were mine ta kill. I don't need you killin' my prey for me. What the hell is yer problem?"

"I went to find you and you were snoring so bad I thought you were goin to snort yerself inside out. I left ya ta rest. Ya never slept like this before. You need rest to get all the way better."

"What do ya think I'm some helpless pussy? I'm still here, I'm still me, and I'm still able to kick yer pretty tan ass. . . wait a minute, what do ya mean climb?"

(Now I'm really pacing. I don't need him saying this shit about me like I'm some weakling, especially not where the others can hear . . . I refuse to be looked at like I'm a liability even if I'm a cripple . . .and I won't admit that fun lil fact to anyone but myself.)

"Guard tower, ya got what ya need man? Got a gun or somethin?"

"Ya man, bout fuckin time I can be useful again."

"Well can you climb with yer ribs and that bad hand and arm? Can ya run if you need to?"

"Time ta find out huh?"

We walk out of the prison. I stop and smell the air the early fall scent in the air the slight nip to the breeze. Fall is coming soon. I walk to the guard tower hoping my ribs and arm are healed enough to climb, hoping I can grasp well enough. I've not had to climb anything this big since I lost my hand. It's a ladder straight up the inner wall. Grasping the left shouldn't be too bad my hand is large even if short a couple of digits. I can make the most of my large palm, but I'm most worried about my arm. I'm having trouble extending it and rotating it, I will have to use my elbow to compensate for having no hand. Also it's damn weak. Hopefully my strong sound legs will make up for my injured upper half. Jus gotta make it look effortless.

"Shit man can I rely on you not to make a dumbass decision an git yerself killed again."

"Dumbass? I thinned their ranks didn't I - came damn close to getting the Gov. dead too. Would have if that lame ass piece of shit hadn't gotten in my way."

"Right man. You didn't think of getting me to go with ya or Michonne? She would have backed you up too. Problem with you is you never use yer fucking brain".

We get inside the tower and the ladder is at least 12 feet straight up but the rungs are decently wide for me to get a good footing on.

"I'll go up first man and give ya some time if ya need it. Also got some rope".

"Rope? What the hell do you need rope for all a sudden. You're just on guard duty. Jeez. Ya turn cowboy gonna lasso yerself a couple a walkers and harness them up to some a those piece of shit cars. See too many dopey westerns? Hah you pussy shithead."

He smiles his bright blue eyes same color as mine full of mischief

"see ya in a bit old man"

"Who Ya callin old man? Damn boy ya must think I'm a pussy too jus' like yerself. I'm stronger than most even when I'm injured. I'm good, just gotta take it slow is all, make up for my fucked up arm. you go on do what ya need to I'll be right here, behind ya just like I should be".

(I'm glad yer thinking ahead little bro, but my ribs hope you don't have to haul my broken ass up there. Shit Merle what you got yerself inta now, you should fuckin know better than that)

I look up craning my head and begin climbing after Daryl scampers up like a damn squirrel.

Holding my body close to the ladder, gets the job done, step by step rung by rung I continue to look up as Daryl goes white under his tan to see how hard I have to work to get up the damn ladder. He finally comes within reaching distance and grabs my belt tugging me the rest of the way. He pulls hard and I land too hard on my back yelling out a little in pain (Shit). I feel a stitch or two tear and lay there seeing stars; gawd that sucks. I hate looking like this in front of him. I can't see or hear for a minute while the throbbing in my back and arm take up the beat of my heart and the blackness takes over my vision and . I . am. Out.

I come to self after what I hope is only a few moments.

Daryl is staring out of the tower at the mid morning sun. I'm slowly coming to again. I groan and get myself upright again.

"Merle man what the hell are you trying to prove. If ya weren't healed enough ya should have told me. When you gonna start accepting that you need help &amp; for a while that you ain't gonna be able to do everything like ya used to."

"What ya mean" I say with a big shit eating grin (damn I hurt).

"Do ya know what it's like watching you in pain and fighting for yer life and knowing I might never get to be around ya again. I fucking was there in the infirmary every minute I could just watching you create stinky breath for days on end. I only left to get ya more meds and for the assholes with the damn flu. Yer a simple minded piece of shit because you had to prove somethin' &amp; because you couldn't swallow yer fuckin pride and try to make things right. Ya stupid asshole."

He sniffs just like when he was a little kid. Wiping quickly at his eyes, with the back of his hand leaving a trail of clean tan skin under all the layers of ick and grime, shoulders shaking with pent up tears.

I snort thinking of when he was a kid and I sat on his chest letting the stray dog we befriended lick his face clean on more than one occasion, then I tickled him till he peed, running away on my faster longer legs so he couldn't do the same to me.

"Yup some things never change."

I get up and walk over to him. Leaning up against his side touching his hair with my hand finishing by slapping him lightly on his scruffy cheek. As he smiles, I pace slowly working my aches out, stretching my ribs and lungs rubbing the tight new scar on my chest. I come back to stand next to him, wrapping my hand around the back of his neck pulling our foreheads together, looking into his identical blue eyes.

"Yer still the sweet one. Ya know yer the good brother right? I never apologized for being an asshole. But it will always, always be my job to protect my baby brother anyway I can. It's how I'm wired, it's who I am, and that will never change. Even when I was gone I was always there; whether you saw it that way or not."

(Shit man I'm in this deep might as well poison myself with pussiness &amp; get it over with. It's time to say it.)

Putting myself in the open just about makes me vomit but he has to hear the words, he has to know what having him means to me, I let his neck go and straighten up looking away, not being able to handle emotion any better than usual.

"I really didn't think he would hurt you, every mark on you is a mark on me and a sin etched into my heart, you had the softest whitest skin when you were born. I hate that your back is nearly as fucked up as mine. I know I wasn't what you needed, I never learned how to be the right brother to ya, but I did what I did so I could come back to you, which I wouldn't have if I killed our sadistic fuck of a father. Ya mean the world to me kid, don't you ever forget it. I know you first and best."

He glares at me sorting through what I said, then he snorts looking down and away, not being able to meet my eyes either.

"yeah I get it"

"Now if you don't understand that I will have to open yer damn head and make you get it. Now will you help me with my fucking stump so I'm not such a damn liability?"

"One thing ya forgot to say is that I'm the better looking brother too"

"Might be Darlyina but, but the ladies love 'ol Merle, It's what happens between the sheets that matters"

"Now can ya wrap my damn stump today some time?"

"Shit man you sure you want me doing that, why not Skya or Hershel"

"Couldn't find Hershel &amp; Skya is off with her kids finding a cell"

" . . . scared her man?"

" Yah maybe, I think she might be embarrassed though. . . Here I've got some bandages roll them up before you begin, tight"

(The bandages come out of my bag like intestines; and he begins to roll them back up as I explain-could never do this myself &amp; I've tried so many times. As much as I hate to admit it there are some things that HAVE to be done with two hands, like opening a can of anything without electricity, and pressure wrapping my fuckin' stump. Damn I hate this shit!)

"You start wrapping about where my burn scar ends but you figure-eight it toward the end of my arm and up over the tip of the stump, then you begin pulling it tight as you can at the tip, overlapping it like a spring up nearly to my elbow. The trick is ending it right. The most important thing is the tension has to be gradually lighter as you get closer to my elbow. That is what gets rid of the damn swelling"

"Shit" ( I shudder as he starts pulling on the stump of my arm where the burns still hurt sometimes) "Just tighten up – this shit ain't comfortable but it's gotta be done so I can use my damn arm again as it heals" I look up and Im sitting leaning on my left side my right arm leaning on my brother's thigh and lap the closest and most intimate that I have been with him in years, I can't meet his eye. Im more vulnerable than I've been since I first came home from the military. Baring my stump and holding it in his lap he can see the unevenness and how the doctors at Woodbury had to remove several inches of infected tissue and exposed bone before making a flap out of my previously burned skin. It's still uneven and the skin is sensitive when exposed but useful with a leather and metal cover. When covered, I can throw punches, put pressure on it, almost anything. Still I have to remove it at night or I run the risk of rubbing the overly sensitive skin raw and causing another infection. I hate it being handled but from time to time it swells and I have to go through this process again.

He gingerly starts wrapping it again the first try not being tight enough and unraveling.

"Better, just keep it evenly tight loosening it gradually so the swelling doesn't get trapped. Then you have to tuck the end in just before the elbow. Here slip my leather cuff on and buckle it over my elbow so it all stays on. Tighten it as much as you can, much better, that already feels good. See it's covered better than it was; the pressure makes the pain better too. Here if I keep it propped while we watch it will go down a little and by the time our shift ends I might fit lil' Merle on."

We take turns shooting walkers that get too close making a competition out of it, him with the crossbow me with my silenced pistol. Then several people come back from a food and clothing run (Winter is coming, Hah one of my favorite new books. I told you I love to read)

I enjoy our companionable silence, I watch my brother, seeing how he has grown in my absence, proud of the man he has become, even if it was without me. . . My thoughts roam on so many facets, destabilizing the person I used to be and thinking new thoughts some gloomy some not. Some about my limitations, some about the people here and the fact that I need to be part of a group of people, this time not merely as the shit monger as Michonne liked to put it, but as someone valuable for his skills, not just his willingness to do the dirty stuff.

Thoughts are trimming my layers down like a damn onion, peeling my defenses off, built years ago in drug induced desperation. Now I'm clean for almost a year, the first time in my adult life and I begin considering things. Then it's too much so I slap Daryl on the head and begin play fighting. I look down and see Hershel making his gimpy way over to the base of the tower; I know I'm in for a tongue lashing now. But that is just what I need.

Shit man . . .

(Did you catch the references to the Boondock saints "what's the rope for" and game of thrones "winter is coming")


	28. Roadmap to the Dixons

**_My writing style is kind of a flow of consciousness, so sometimes I jump around in telling Merle's story. He is knocking on my brain telling me I forgot something. The fly on the wall had to get the group's misunderstanding of Merle out and bring it to a head; popping it like a huge disgusting boil. Daryl has been working this tantrum up for a while. Glen and Rick are well meaning but both kind of idiotic with the socioeconomic arrogance that they don't know that they have. Merle and Daryl both are quite aware of it. It's pretty aggravating to them. As always AMC owns the playground I'm playing in. I'm just climbing on the monkey bars with Merle and Daryl waiting for me in an embarrassed silence. Who found the reference to guardians to the galaxy?_**

Roadmap to the Dixons

Daryl's POV

(Now)

As Merle and I stand watch in the tower, enjoying our companionable silence, watching for danger, watching my new so called family going about their duties. I wonder if my pain-in-the-ass brother will ever make a place for himself. Will he heal and thrive, go on runs again; be able to hunt &amp; fight and get back to his old ornery self? I watch him as he fiddles with his pistol, wincing lightly as he twists and moves, shifting position as he watches. My nose itches as the ripe combination of his scent of unwashed sweat, old blood, &amp; whiskey (where did he find that?) overwhelms the constant stench of increasingly rotten walkers. I feel the late summer sunshine dusting my skin as I consider telling him about what the others assumed about him. I defended him, setting them straight and blowing the top off of our collective graveyard of buried memories. My thoughts reel back 3 weeks earlier, when he was still unconscious and fighting for his life.

(BEFORE)

I don't talk much about my upbringing, Dixons aren't cuddly and we don't give a damn about what we feel. What's the use of that, it don't help you survive. Only strength helps you tough it out in a hardscrabble existence not designed for kids. Merle instilled this in me; he taught me to think and helped me survive on my own, even if I was way too young for it.

One moment I was calmly eating with the people that I consider a newfound family, not blood but nearly as important; the next I am literally seeing red trying to rip Rick's and Glen's heads off simultaneously. I couldn't believe what I heard and the callousness that I would believe from my brother but not from them.

I planned on having a quiet dinner with my friends, outside of Merle the most important people in the world to me. Dixon luck being what it is of course that didn't exactly end well.

"Hey man how ya holding up (Rick slurs his words as he and Glen join me at the table both swaying gently like leaves in the wind)"

"Jus fine, Merle's down there snoring his fool ass off, surprised he hasn't sucked a blanket up his nose yet."

They both fall down giggling

"What the hell is wrong with you two, y'all stoned?"

Rick answers through suppressed impaired giggles

"Ya got us, yer brother was right. There were drugs hidden, but it was inside a toilet. We were having trouble with the plumbing and out comes a soapbox full of weed. College boy here (Glen smiles proudly) rolled it up and damn its good stuff".

(Stoned Laughter)

"We even gave half of it to Hershel to help your brother or whoever"

"Don't ya even think of giving that shit to my brother he's the cleanest he's been in 20 damn years, he's gonna have to tolerate his pain on his own"

Glen shrugs "Okay man whatever you say. Your brother surprised me by trying to end that fucking psychopath".

"Ya man he was brave, he was trying to do the right thing, trying to make shit up to us. He never does shit like that; he's always been fucking impulsive. Y'all would never know it but he's really smart; just too busy getting in his own way".

Sotto voce

"(Ask him)"

"(No you ask him)"

"(he's gonna lose his shit)"

"(Nah, he's cool)"

"WHAT! Are you fuckheads whisperin about? Shit you gotta sleep that shit off y'all are idiots like this"

"We gotta bet" slurs Rick

"Yer not gonna like it just stupid shit" adds Glen

"WHAT I'm gonna bust yer heads together if ya keep actin like this".

"Okay man just don't get upset, we just want to know about your scars. We assumed it was Merle but now that we saw Merle when Hershel was treating him; it doesn't make sense".

Glen is stoned but apparently has a death wish even raising the subject &amp; Rick joins in similarly clueless.

"Glen thinks that Merle beat you and gave you your scars after whoever hurt him was done, like shit rolling down hill".

Rick leans across the table clueless as to how dangerous and personal this subject is.

"I thought he got outta control on drugs and beat you. You never talked about him much. Seems like a shitty brother. I saw situations like yours when I was a sheriff. He's pretty messed up, he probably felt bad though".

"So which is it?" Glen adds

I saw red just red. I jumped up across the table, connecting with the underside of Rick's jaw snapping his head up and propelling him off the picnic table backwards, surprising Glen who due to his drugged state was too slow getting up and I punched him hard in the eye and simultaneously in the ribs.

I kicked Rick's feet out from underneath him dropping him again onto the concrete and I jump him pummeling his ribs and folding him up around a fist to the gut.

"Y'all are fucked up; I get it but don't ever tell me what you think you know about my own brother. You don't get to make assumptions about him. I know he can be shitty. But get this through your head. He's my brother and my kin I would give my life for him like he almost done for me. You fuckers left him to die and didn't give a shit about him. If he weren't my brother you would never have considered going back for him. You only helped him because he was MY brother?"

I'm sitting on Ricks chest, staring at him as I talk nearly nose to nose; now I get up and start pacing like an agitated bull.

"You both just don't get it. All these issues you think he had with the group are because ya'll abandoned him to die on a hot rooftop in Atlanta in fucking summer. He had to rescue himself because y'all were too shit scared to rescue him like he deserved. Were you there when my Daddy was fucked up on drugs beating the shit out of my momma? Merle comes and picks a fight with the asshole so she can scoop me up and get me the hell out of there."

Rick and Glen are now goggling at me like a pair of stoned goldfish, never seeing me so red hot and talking so damn much. But it's pent up in me and now I can't stop.

"Did you know he took a bullet through the side in Granada when he was a Marine, damn lucky that time too? He was and is a fucking hero; and that was long before he was ever in the military. Did you know that the reason he ended up getting kicked out? A black officer told him that no cracker ass redneck needs a promotion just because he got shot. No matter that he was the best sharpshooter they had. That's why the Marines wanted him in the first place, because he was the best shot, even under pressure."

"That's why he beat the shit outta that asshole; of course the fact that the officer was wrong didn't matter none, because my brother is a cracker ass redneck. So they took everything he earned and gave him 16 months in the brig. How is that for thanking him for being a fucking patriotic hero, nearly giving his life for this country and still unappreciated?"

I squat down and pull Glen up by the shirt to look me in the eye. I watch his mortified distress, wincing more from embarrassment then from the beating I gave him, still with his air knocked out of him, mercifully silent.

"You fuckheads have known me for what a year and you saw Merle at his worst, after he was taking drugs nonstop for a month. He was in the city with y'all to get more. That's why he went nuts; ya didn't know him at all sober. Were y'all there at Christmas when my Daddy locked us outside in the snow and Merle broke into our own house slicing up his arm? Then Daddy takes a swing at me and Merle steps in; turns out there was a knife in daddy's hand, stabbed him in the leg too."

"How about when I was 7 and poured all the moonshine out replacing it with water; Merle took my beating with a belt buckle that time that's why his back was fucked up. It sliced him to ribbons, his blood was everywhere; he screamed at me to run. My momma called the cops for once and you know what my Daddy said? Do Ya?"

"Ya think you know me? Than what did my Daddy do? He blamed it on Merle said it was in self fucking defense. Merle was only 15. He missed a week of school that time".

"How about his jaw and his nose, do you know why they are crooked? It's because I had crappy grades. I was 9 and Merle came home from juvie early for Mommas funeral. Daddy punched me and broke my ribs and my arm. Merle defended me and Daddy smashed his face in. He beat Daddy so bad he nearly died; smashed his hand and wrist doing it; he needed surgery to put his knuckles back together. It were the first time I went to the hospital. All three of us were there that night &amp; Merle never came home again. He went to juvie and then he joined the Marines after he healed. He thought that children's services would protect me; he thought I didn't have scars. He never knew the truth until we left together from Woodbury. That's why he went on that crazy suicide run. He thought he failed me, but it was never his job to take care of me."

I drop him like a handful of poison ivy and sit on the ground with them while they get their wind back, now they are groaning, rubbing their sore spots, bruises already rising up like reanimated walkers. They look to be coming down from their high and they think my brother is an asshole when stoned. Just another double standard!

"Daryl, I'm. . ."

"No, I'm not done Rick."

"Think about this if you know me so well. I was born when he was only 8; he failed a year of school when I was little. This from someone who learned himself to read when he got into my Daddy's porno mags at the age of 4. When Daddy figured out Merle could read better than he could, he broke his hand so he couldn't hold a book or a pencil. He was 4, and no one helped him like he helped me – No one! Who do you think took care of him when he was little? Mama tried but she was always working. She couldn't protect him, neither could our grandfather. That's why he was a scarred up mess before I was even born. He took care of me when I was a baby, missed school so he could make sure I ate, was clean and so they wouldn't beat me when I cried. I wasn't his responsibility but he did it anyway. In another family he would have played sports and gone to college probably on a scholarship. He was that fucking smart."

"Daryl Im . . . "

"No just fuck off. I don't even believe that you could have a bet on that. What's wrong with you fuckheads? Merle nearly died and got the worst beating and injuries of his life and this is what you still think of him. If you like me and think of me as a brother like you often say Rick, y'all better start thinking of him as a brother too, because he and I are connected. He saved my life more times than I can tell. Now get out of my way before you really get hurt. And think of how y'all are going to make this up to him. . . And to me."

I start to storm away wanting to get back to sit next to my gravely injured unconscious brother; who at least is honest in his owning up to being an asshole (and proud of it). But I gotta finish it, cementing their need to make this up to both my brother and me.

"What I really don't fucking get. Is how you could even consider this after what he just put himself through? Don't ya know we're all losers? We've all lost by now. He nearly died protecting me and you because I care about you. You know before he left. He said that everybody but me looks at him like he's the devil. He might put up a front but don't believe for a second that shit like that doesn't bother him because it does. He just doesn't know how to say it, so he usually does something to show it. How could you even think that he ever hurt me, you stupid Assholes!?"

"Don't even try to talk to me now. Merle is down there fighting for his life and you're making bets! What the hell is in your head? Other than Pot and stupid choices I mean."

I storm off seeing red ignoring the two embarrassed fuckheads and their stupid mealy mouthed apologies. I care for everybody here but Merle still shows them up, putting his life on the line for those that only talk to him or consider him when there is dirty work to be done. It's time that they see him for who he really is . . . my impulsive . . . brilliant . . . asshole of a brother. He's spirited, with snarky humor, always confident, never lets his thoughts show, never allows himself to acknowledge wanting more, never understanding how to really talk to people.

Pushing them away by offending them is always so much easier than showing his inner workings. My brother the undervalued jerk. They just don't get us, how could they, most of them had it pretty easy before. The way we show our affection for one another is not typical of brothers. Yet, as the fucked up Dixons, our bond is in some ways tighter. We've always had to be survivors. He couldn't be loving; he was working too hard at trying to survive and teaching me how to as well. Deep as a bottomless well is my wonderful but crappy brother, Merle.


	29. Exit Wounds & Healing Nature

**_It's here! New TWD season. I'm still missing Merle but he lives on in my imagination. Even if he were protecting his brother he would have still never gone to the governor without backup like that. Michonne would have followed him, especially had she run into Daryl on the road. So many ways he would have not died. I still get "what would Merle do in this moment" when I watch the show. I'm sure cannon Daryl hears Merle in his head. I'm sure Merle's ghost is not too far behind. I can't see him going to the other side before Daryl did. I see Daryl as a guy who lives so much in his head that he will never tell others that Merle is still with him in spirit (Rick/Lori crazytown not a good comparison). By the way AMC owns the characters blah blah blah. Review review review And with no further ado go have fun. Happywalking dead day_**

Hershel POV:

I come back from working in the gardens and I'm told that my favorite and most aggravating patient was looking for me and is now on watch in the tower. I have a bad feeling that he has most likely pulled his stitches out; maybe ripping through his previously scarred skin by climbing up into the tower with his brother. I can appreciate his wanting to get back to his "normal" functioning self as soon as possible; but if he doesn't take it somewhat easy he is going to reopen up his wounds and maybe rebreak some of his healing bones. Climbing up into the tower is a poor choice of activity to rehab his battered body. I do understand his wanting some alone time with his brother, but I would think walking the grounds, trapping, maybe checking for walkers in the other cell blocks would be sufficient.

I stretch and feel the resulting twinges in my leg stump and I think back on how stubborn I was while I was healing and how frustrated I was at my limitation before my prosthetic was found on a run. I can imagine that Merle would feel moreso being a passionate bullheaded man who always had to do things on his terms. I could only imagine what it might feel like had I suffered a similar injury on my"good foot". He was already weakened by the loss of his hand, his dominant hand at that. Now he has to acclimate to the mutilation of his sound hand and adjust to living in this world where weakness often results in a premature and unpleasant end. I step into the shadow of the tower and see Daryl on watch and Merle leaning on the tower as lookout, backing up his brother as he probably always had. I feel the warmth of the sun caressing my back, diminished from the intensity of the summer, now almost pleasant. I consider how the nights are starting to hold the promise of the approaching fall weather. I catch Merle's eye from up in the tower.

"I need to change your dressing son, a little bird told me you were looking for me earlier".

"Well here I am old man, ya done found me. Funny I don't think ya gimped all the way out here to talk ta me bout my dressings. Ya know I was gonna find ya later. What's on yer mind"?

"Do you really think I'm going to stand out here and shout at you? When you come down later you can find me. I'm going to be teaching Skya a few techniques, and a bit more about herbal remedies."

"Herbal remedies! Hah that'll be tha day. Can't even find some decent herb, but that's all right maybe its better I've got a clean head about me. Still I could use some of the gentle stuff, set my bones at ease, help my stumps ta settle."

Merle shakes his head grinning while I can almost see the smoke pouring out of Daryl's ears.

Daryl looks at him whispering something at him.

"Ha! HAHAHA. Would a loved ta see them stoned. Officer fucking friendly and college boy! Oh ma gawd wish I was a fly on the wall that day. Where was I? Hibernating like a fucking bear I bet. Damn! I missed some good shit being unconscious and all."

I think back three weeks earlier when Glen was helping Tyreese change a toilet's malfunctioning plumbing, finding a generous amount of marijuana. He was kind enough to give me most of it to ease people's pain but Glen had kept some of it for a "finder's fee". Glen and Rick had apparently gotten stoned together and annoyed Daryl to the point of fisticuffs. There is more to the story because since then they have been acting very apologetic around him and Merle; moreso than ever before. Something tells me that things were aired out and maybe the three will come to terms with their mutual dislike and be able to work beyond it.

"You know where to find me, Merle, I'll be waiting, don't take too long and be careful coming back down."

"Humph" (he snorts in my general direction before turning back to his brother)

I hear the diminished sounds of brotherly bickering fade as I walk back into the main cell block, smiling to myself thinking how both the brothers seem more balanced than I have ever seen them. Merle is looking healthier and beginning to gain some of his weight back. The last two weeks have seen him change from nearly skeletal and frail, back to thin but managing. His healing also has taken an upswing especially being able to close his exit wound and hopefully keep it that way. The last few days since I put in the stitches have seen him become almost feverishly active trying to gain back 6 weeks of healing time instantly and simultaneously. He seems to be trying to prove to all (especially himself) that he is not diminished when he so plainly is.

I make my way back to my cell, and find Skya pouring over my medical texts found in the prison infirmary; she looks up with a smile quirking her features.

"Was I right? The idiot climbed into the tower didn't he? He doesn't know what to do with himself. He's not healed yet but he is healthy enough to be mobile and needs to prove to himself that he is still the tough guy he used to be,"

I chuckle, "Except he's not. He has a mess of healing bones and the worst puncture wound I've ever seen. His skin is pretty delicate with all the previous scarring. It's not supple at all &amp; may tear if he falls while climbing back down."

I sit on my cot rubbing my weaker knee absently thinking, shaking my head gently, chuckling to myself.

"Of all the things I thought I never would do; being a surgeon for humans with the medical supplies akin to that of the Civil War era. Then add to it having to serve as doctor to a bunch of stubborn civilians turned unwilling soldiers during the end of days"

Skya stand up and stretches, crosses a step or two that the tiny cell allows her, puts her hands on her hips leaning sarcastically over me. "Hershel, how can you begin to guess that your precious bible could have possibly meant this when it described the resurrection of the faithful? It sounds like the worst ever practical joke in the history of mankind".

"Skya your lack of understanding of the Bible when you are so bright in so many ways is mystifying to me. Didn't your parents ever take you to church?"

I can't even begin to understand how she is so ignorant of the Holy Bible. She is so bright in so many other ways but has always looked completely lost when Merle and I conversed by trading biblical quotes. She often was silent during the extensive time that the three of us spent on his dressing changes; packing &amp; repacking his exit wound to his back and treating the nasty infection that resulted from the bite wound that amputated his fingers.

"Skya what are you reading up on now? And do you have any questions?"

"Yeah but not maybe what you expect. How can you still have faith after all you have lost, that God is more than a prankster or worse a vengeful god trying to get back at us for being creatures of our nature"

I look up into her blue eyes swimming in tears, as her face crumples in the way a little girl's would...

"Shh, what's wrong, Skya. Come here" (I pat the cot next to me &amp; she sits, head in hands long hair masking her face, shoulders shaking as she tried to hold back her sobs)

I turn her to me pulling her into my chest and I hold her as she sobs, sniffling, patting her soft silky hair, for all the world feeling in my arms as one of my daughters.

"What's wrong sweetheart? Just let it out honey, whatever it is, I can only help if I know what's bothering you". (The poor girl is just shaking all over crying as if her heart was breaking. I can only imagine that this is stored up from the previous year, having to be strong for too long without any real release)

She sits up wiping her face pushing her tear wet hair out of the way, sniffling &amp; wiping her nose on the hem of her shirt.

"Oh for god sake, I don't even know. It just was like a dam bursting, you reminded me of my father just then. I missed him and how I always felt safe with him more than anybody else in my life. He died so long ago when I was barely an adult. I forgot what it's like to have someone else help me feel safe"

"How old were you sweetheart? You were pretty young when you lost him weren't you. Is that when you lost your faith?

"Oh no Hershel, I wasn't raised like you were. My parents taught me about lots of religions, to help me make a decision that worked for me. They didn't want me to feel forced into a religion. They took me to church for an education not as a believer. No shock that none of it stuck"

"I guess Im crying because I have been strong for everyone but me. I haven't had anyone being strong for me since I was 21; even before I was shot while I was living in New York City. I healed on my own while I lived in the Bronx. My insurance took care of me but I was alone; my family was so scattered after my father died. You see he was the glue in our family. We all became unstuck after he was gone. Then 15 years later when I got married while I lived in Ohio. I didn't realize that my husband was a time bomb of drug abuse and insanity.

My husband had just finished a drug rehab program for his cocaine addiction because he was self medicating his schizoaffective disorder. He was seeing Norse gods in Wal-Mart and had to be forcibly committed. It blew up in my face shortly before the world ended, He finally got help he needed the year before the virus struck. We were vacationing with his family in Georgia when this all started. He was due to start a new job when the virus hit and the airports shut down. We were stranded, I couldn't drive hundreds of miles alone with kids after he and my in-laws were all killed and I had to put them down. Since then it was a blur. I was existing for my kids and numb within myself"

"Honey, I had no idea that this started for you so long before it did for everyone else. You've been on your own since you were 21. And you were shot not much after that?"

Yeah, suffice it to say really really long story. I'll give you the short and to the point version. I was shot in central park in New York City when I lived there and I was a reptile biologist at the zoo, taking my masters in zoology at Fordham University. I was studying the temperature of crocodilians on exhibit and how their development from juveniles into adults may be stunted. I was hoping to get them to breed as they matured and seeing if the air temperature delayed their maturation. You know that the temperature of crocodilian eggs determines their gender. I was wondering if it affected the maturation of crocodilians in northern zoos."

I blinked; I couldn't be more stunned about what she had been studying. Fascinating study. Brilliant girl. What had changed that potential I wondered?

"So my head injury from falling when I got shot and nearly bled out ended my ability to work with reptiles inside the exhibits. Too dangerous for someone who is half deaf and has a slow reaction time due to a head injury. I gave my research to my partner and went on to other possibilities. We still got published and I was given credit but I didn't finish my degree".

"I went back to Ohio and worked on blood samples for awhile in a research lab, so I understand retroviruses. I think that is what this is the way it changes our genetics and mutates us after we die. It really couldn't be anything else, but it's a manufactured virus, it has too many perfect elements. It's a perfect storm of virus potential".

"Then I got bored and retrained into being an occupational therapist, I was really good at it but had to always fight against the cognitive residual of my head injury, I hopped from job to job because my managers never could be empathetic about my attention span problems and my inability to multitask especially with the damn documentation. I know more than most what it feels like to rehab from a physical and cognitive disability. Now my disability is invisible and that is the hardest type for others to understand. Mostly they just think you're lazy and trying to take advantage of the system. I finally got my masters of occupational therapy though".

I'm stunned, I knew she has some odd character quirks, but now it fits with what I have noticed about her."Skya honey you've had to be so strong for so long; for your husband, for your kids and while you healed yourself and rediscovered how to cope. I'm amazed how well you bounced back from that. You are an amazing girl you know; I would have never guessed any of that except to some extent the hearing loss. That I figured out on my own, so minor compared to an old gimpy cripple like me".

"Shit girl I had no idea; why the hell didn't you tell me. Now I know why we get along: you have nearly as fucked up a past as yer handsome buddy ol' Merle. Ahh, goddamn Darlyina, ya think you could be any rougher, ya shit head!" (I don't know but I have a feeling someone just got kicked)

I look up to the gratuitous amount of profanity and see Merle leaning on the wall listening, supported by his brother, bleeding freely from his right shoulder, pale and shaky.

"I fucked up. Damn I was stupid climbing up there. I lost my grip on tha damn ladder on the way down because of my fucking finger stumps getting in tha' way when I was climbin'. Fell inta something sharp at the bottom, hit my goddamn right shoulder. Think it's just a flesh wound but damn if it ain't the last thing I need when I'm just startin' to use ma right arm again".

"Merle I think I've told you before about your profanity especially in my cell. Now I'm going to be nice and not kick you out when you so plainly are in need of attention, but I'll thank you to curb your profanity if you please"

I smile at the wretched picture of the miserable man in front of me, but I still mean him to clean up his act around me and have some respect around Skya. I also wonder how much he heard of her very vulnerable but amazing history.

"Skya I think you can handle this while I talk to this foolish idiot's brother. Outside if you please Daryl"

She quickly wipes her eyes and looks for some sutures and hopefully some remaining dressings. She smiles at Merle and takes his hand in hers squeezing his remaining fingers gently as he sighs settling again into my bed for another round of medical treatments.

"Ya okay Juicy? Shit girl what was that for?" I see her wry look as she prods his wound a little too roughly (I know how she hates that sexually explicit nickname that he gives her, so plainly liking her reaction). " Heeey sweetness, whys yer face leaking, yer gonna drip freckles all over tha' damn place". She shakes her head and snorts smirking at the ridiculous mental image that he created.

I take the idiot's brother for a walk to talk some sense into him and let him know how limited his brother might realistically continue to be. How he needs to help him slow down and not needlessly risk himself. I look Daryl over as I limp beside him, taking in his stress and his slight moisture about the eyes.

"Son your brother needs to slow down and heal in his own time. He is strong as the sea" but he doesn't know how to let others help him. I think he is getting better at being around people and whatever you did to Rick and Glen a couple of weeks ago seems to have broken up the resentment that the group held against him"

Daryl stops, his eyes darkening with remembered anger.

"Those idiots got stoned and had a bet on the stupid assumption that Merle caused my scars, but it wasn't him. He protected me and was beaten in my place over and over until he finally couldn't take it no more and almost killed our Father. Is that what you wanna know. Any other assumptions you people wanna get outta tha way while yer at it. How about treatin' my brother like anyone else, lettin' him heal in peace like he deserves".

"Daryl I didn't know they said that. They were wrong and it wasn't any of their business. We are all equal here. I'm ashamed that Glen acted that way and I'm shocked that Rick said that. Son I've always liked and respected your brother. I think he is one of those men that has miles of depth under the surface of what you see in his eyes. I just wanted to say that I'm pleased at his progress as a patient and as a person learning to fit better with the group. Skya I think is being a good friend to him and he is to her. I think they are more alike than you realize. Let me tell you a little about what you might have overheard just now . . ."

**_Authors note. Skya is channeling a bit from my past. I was a zookeeper for reptiles once upon a time. A student from the university used to spend hours watching my critters as she was doing her thesis on their behavior. Incidentally, crocodilians and dragon lizards in northern zoos have to be watched carefully for burns from heating up too much under heat lamps and on hot rocks, but not registering it due the colder ambient temperature. I actually worked with a horribly scarred animal who had literally cooked his back before he came to our zoo. He was the biggest jerk and the smallest dragon lizard we had. Also invisible disabilities such as residual head injuries and conditions like ADHD are tougher in a way because you look average but often are labeled as "lazy" because no one sees the struggle. I do work as a therapist and I see this all the time in my patients. I stopped being a zookeeper because of catastrophic allergies to some of the stuff I needed to use with the animals._**


	30. Taking matters into hand

**_One of the things I most like to see is the quiet daily going about life, learning each other's habits. Who is neat who is not who likes to stay up late who likes to tell a good story etc. Merle is bored and getting into trouble being his own worst enemy. Now he's shooting his mouth again (Idiot). Reviews anyone? It would make my day and I always appreciate my readers. Thanks to AMC &amp; Kirkman for giving us such delicious characters to play with sadly not mine other than the OC. _**

SKYA

I'm reading up on medical stuff and absorbing how to jump from being a therapist to serving as the closest as I can be as a doctor; at least someone who can provide stitches, first aid and diagnose the basics. Thanks to Hershel, I now can sew shut a wound, or provide dressings if it's not ready to be stitched yet (umm Merle). If I need to I can hack off a limb after a walker bite. I am ruthless enough to put you down after you're bitten in a hopeless spot. I'm gonna have to bug Merle to show me some more about how to use firearms and how to hunt. I just hope it's enough to keep the kiddos going. I was just thinking on that when Hershel came in to tell me that Merle the stupid dumbass had followed his brother up into the tower, with his back just closed with stitches and his bones just beginning to set up. It's a precarious time for him. He wouldn't be the first to hurt himself because he is feeling better although he is not well enough to be considered healed, or sound enough to begin retraining his body and being as active as he can. Now the stupid asshat fell on his way down from the tower and landed on something that sliced his shoulder, he set his recovery back at least week and it's a week no one can afford least of all him.

It's been a long day of looking around for a cell and helping out in the garden with Beth, Maggie and Hershel, while Hershel taught the kiddos about harvesting berries and tomatoes. He showed me what to look for in soil and taught me a little about the Georgia climate. Being a northerner, I'm still pretty clueless about all things southern. I thought that you had to wait until after Mother's day due to frost. I got a laugh from Hershel &amp; Maggie. Hershel is also teaching me about how to use the medicinal properties of some of the vegetation native to this area for stomach ailments. Icky stomachs are just a given lately as we are eating out of cans or from nature, our stomachs are still acclimated to store bought, pasteurized food. The only people who do not have frequent upset stomachs, diarrhea, and lots of farting are the cast iron stomach Dixons and Greenes; those who are accustomed to eating wilder than the rest of us poor suburban souls.

No one is embarrassed anymore by the closeness we have and the lack of privacy. The cell block apparently sounds like a soft porn video at night, with most of the adults, taking matters into hand or embracing the latex. I'm sure the kids will grow up with fewer questions about sex having heard it every night and with some of the couples having unofficial contests of unusual places to bury the sausage. Discreet has gone out the window and Miss Manners would have been rolling in her grave if not taking a bite out of someone purely for spite. However a lady should not show her teeth.

Meals have become a symphony of body sounds and few polite "pardon me" responses. In the last several days the kids and I have been joining the main cell block for meals. I'm amazed how the group has become as a well oiled machine, to the point where due to the intimacy of living rough the previous winter they all have become acclimated to one another, to the point where they are in sync with each other's bodies. It no longer is even noticed, that one person grumbles about an arthritic knee misbehaving, or another picking at the blisters between his toes. No one remarks when one person starts scratching his head too much, but on the next town run lice shampoo suddenly appears, as does pepto if another comes down with all the unpleasant and eye watering effects of a sour stomach. Hershel amazes at being one of the best burpers and Michonne is ninja like in her mastery of the SBD to the delight of the kids and the dismay of their Mothers.

Meal time has a pattern and a comfort to it, Hershel recites a bible passage; and then another comes up with an interesting saying. The group goes quiet and the food is passed. As much as they talk about being a family, I can really see it at the meals although many of them are not related by blood.

Outside unbeknown to all I have stowed a bunch of water jugs until Merle is ready for a bath and can submerge his sore beat up carcass, he is not going to know what hit him, when his wounds are ready for water he is going to get the bath to remember for all time. I've got the tub and the water and it was going to be today. Now I will have to wait again!

I might have found a willing accomplice for my revved up sex drive. It's been damn close to a year, since John died and unfortunately your drive doesn't die with your spouse. I've spent a year taking matters into hand and having to explain sounds away to curious kiddos with no privacy at all, even less then here. The three of us in Sarah's basement doesn't lend well to taming the savage inner horny dragon.

Then Hershel returns from finding Merle and Daryl just where I thought they would be, knowing that Merle has been chafing with lack of "alone time" and probably feeling on display like a goldfish. We delve into the past, my past and I just can't hold back, his manner is so fatherly. I just ache for my own Father who died so many years ago when I was barely an adult. It ripped a hole in me that has never been fixed; I have never relied on anyone since, not even my husband. As I said before he was the man I loved but also a time-bomb of mental illness and substance abuse and he went off in my face with nearly disastrous results.

Ironic fact; he was going to start a job when we returned from Georgia, but that was not meant to be. Hershel is here and I curl up in his arms melting into a decade of unshed tears and unkempt promises from my husband to protect me, given in love but never fulfilled. I still love him and miss him and know that he never would have survived this.

Hershel's heartbeat slows my tears its rhythm calming me and centering me, when I look up to see Merle leaning on the wall supported by his brother shaking his head while listening to my messed up history. He laughs stating that it makes sense that we get along being that I have a messed up past too.

_"__Shit girl I had no idea; why the hell didn't you tell me. Now I know why we get along: you have nearly as fucked up a past as yer handsome buddy ol' Merle. Ahh, Goddamn Darlyina, ya think you could be any rougher, ya shit head!" (I don't know but I have a feeling someone just got kicked)_

_I look up to the gratuitous amount of profanity and see Merle bleeding freely from his right shoulder, pale and shaky, his right arm clamped to his side protecting his injured side, laughing ironically. _

Merle knows the drill and climbs into Hershel's bunk to bleed yet again on his sheets. I prod his newest injury as he unwisely teases me about my freckles dripping off me with so much crying. HA.

"Lemme guess Merle not only are you a manwhore but you are a masochist too. You get off on the feel of stitches or the tender ministrations of your favorite freckle face. By the way if these drip they'll land on you. I'm also surprised that you don't have the brains not to fuck with someone who is exploring and sewing shut your sliced up hide"

I snarky back at Merle knowing it will get a rise out of him also knowing that he is a control freak enough to not be able to leave a damn thing alone. He starts to snort and flip over to face me and to read my expression.

"Nope I can't close this damn thing when you're wiggling around like a ticklish snake on a gravel road"

Merle turns his head catching my eye.

"Shit darling, a Yankee girl like you? You're starting to sound more like a southerner with those crazy expressions like that, gotta work on ya damn stick up yer ass snooty accent next, and then y'all will have some southern style. Take it from an ol' southern boy like Merle; I love a nice sexy drawl. Pulls a man in &amp; welcomes him home. Damn! Ya gotta poke me so hard? I think you're the one that likes pain and I mean causing it. . . Ya gotta a gentle touch in there somewhere? Ain't gotta beat me up more than I am"

"Merle you gotta hold still and try not to rile me up when I'm cleaning out this damn laceration. What the hell you trying to prove anyway. I get it you're strong and tough so does everyone else. Do you get really how close you came to dying? Literally within an inch and a half. I measured it. I don't think you really have an appreciation how sick you were and how close you came to succumbing to your injuries. You couldn't keep anything down, you were hot and cold and needed help turning over in bed. Daryl and I took turns staying with you while you slept so we could stop you from thrashing in your dreams. You dreamt respectively of being shot or of being stranded on that roof. You were delirious and tried to fight us. Then you would shake and try to push us away. Every time you ran the risk of puncturing yourself with a broken rib. You kept trying to scratch your dressings off and damn near made me glue your ass to the bed. I had the glue too. Don't think that was an empty thereat you should have seen the look that Daryl gave me when I suggested it.

"I knew it - a sadist planning to have your way with superglue and my pasty white ass. Here I woulda missed out on all the fun due to sleeping yet again. This being wounded shit sucks pussy. You got some issues girl"

I've finished cleaning out his newest and dumbest laceration and it looks to be about 5 inches long and deep along the upper scapula slicing up toward the top of his shoulder on his right side slowing down his gaining function back in his weaker arm. For one who jokes about my freckles he certainly has more than a few, dusted throughout his scars, but nowhere nearly covered in them as I am. He feels rock hard under my hands but is warm to the touch radiating like and overheated car, smelling like sour sweat, stinky man B.O., fresh blood, and dust from the tower. I can tell my surprise bath needs to come sooner rather than later for his well being and everyone else's. Maybe I can tape the sutures in his shoulder and his back up so he can get into the bath today.

I dig out a suturing needle and some silk, amazed at the ability to find medical supplies in the world of the dead. Thank goodness at Daryl being able to get the supplies for his care saved his life in more than the obvious way. Merle is sitting leaning on his left side with his right toward me, baring his back struggling fruitlessly to get out of his "wifebeater" (hate that term) which sticky with blood is glued to his skin. I help him peel it off ripping the wound open again to the dulcet sounds of his rough voice spitting out copious and inventive cussing as only a southern boy can create. The blood will clean it better than I can. I prod the wound which is nasty and deep but not life threatening. He has had so much worse. Just add it to the roadmap I suppose.

"So Doc McJuicytits how bad is it?" He drawls with the bravest and dumbest of smirks, his eyes dilated in pain and his skin pale and clammy.

I poke in the first stitch way harder than needed, and the poor idiot yelps and hits his head on the wall. "Shit I gotta talk to Hershel about teaching ya some decent bedside manners. The hell girl that fuckin' hurts.

"Maybe big bad Merle needs to watch his damn misogynistic mouth when I have a needle in my hand and give me some goddamn respect. Better yet, come up with a better name for me that doesn't bring my more brutal tendancies out. Might be a smart move Dontcha think? Hmmmm? Droopy Mc Clappypants."

Wha"? Da fuck?

Yeah Merle two can play at the name calling game. Come on hold still I can't suture you when you're moving around like that.

Ya ever try to stay still while some crazy ass bitch is poking ya with a needle. Shit girl. Daryl can do stitches better than that."

"I should poke you again for that. But I'm going to try to be nice for a moment. To answer you it's about 6 inches long deep but not to the bone and with actually taking care for yourself should heal uneventfully IF you keep it clean."

I continue to stitch him closed one by one noticing how his other stitches are indeed pulling out due to his overzealous activity level. I notice how his hair is beginning to grow long enough to curl again. He has an impressively full head of hair for a man that must be nearing fifty. How his back muscles ripple as he twitches as I continue to stitch him closed.

"I'm going to use some duct tape over the dressing to seal your wounds and it's time to get your stinky self smelling better than one of those damn walkers. Maybe if you're nice I will help you get in and out of a bath maybe even scrub around your wounds and see if I can find some skin under all that filth. You smell worse than a junkyard outhouse. If I'm not feeling nice I'm sure your brother will help you out. So are you going to start giving me respect or not. I don't need you naming me by way of my anatomy. Find something else to call me or you will find yourself in the bath with your brother; the proud owner of a new and not so nice nickname that all will find humorous except for you."

"Goldamn you are a wily bitch aren't ya. Somehow I think this is just to get a look at 'ole Merle here nekkid try out some lovin'. I just knew ya would come back for more. Peas in a pod darlin, peas in a pod, ya blind if ya don' see that. I know I do and so does ma brother as much as he hates to admit it."

"HA! HAHAHA"

Merle dissolves into loud shaking laughter.

"Goddamn it Freckle Lumps stop stabbing me! Are you sewing me up with a pig sticker?"

"Hold on did you just call me Freckle Lumps?! Maybe I should get a pig sticker since I have a loud stinky Boar squealing at me right here. But you're in luck I'm done. I'm putting super glue in there and putting duct tape on top of the dressing. Fuck knows that you're getting antsy to be active, but I hope you'll keep to the ground for a while and work on your cardio before you try to fly again."

Merle and I look up to see Hershel, Michonne and Daryl all goggling at us like a group of stoned squirrels. Daryl speaks up

"Y'all actin like yer both 12 years old dumbasses, we all can hear every damn word ya say."

Michonne smirks

"You are too much alike, with all that name calling and swearing, I thought I heard an F bomb airshow in here. I know you know that Hershel doesn't like cussing in his space. And he is kind enough to let you get your blood and nasty man smells all over his bunk."

"You're looking better Merle, if you ever want to spar, I'm here. I'll never forgive you that you captured me and nearly got me killed with your dumbass bullshit, but I'll never forget that you saved me in the end. So when you're ready to work out you got yourself a partner."

Hershel limps over to him effectively kicking me out of the bunk

"Don't go anywhere son. I got some stitches in your foolish hide that needs some attention; I need to see how your back looks."

Merle flips back on his chest grunting and groaning at the pressure on his still healing bones

"Do your worst pegleg Pete"

Hershel smirks at the name "Do you ever call people by their right names? How do you even keep all the nicknames straight?"

I see Merle twitch in humor and in discomfort at his back being prodded.

"Hey man, ya can get this poking my hide shit done soon? I'm getting tired of being down. I'm a busy man got things I gotta do"

Hershel shakes his head

"You know Son (I've never heard that can much sarcasm from Hershel) you can help yourself out by not doing things that will rip your stitches out. You need to realize that although you can tolerate more activity, you are by no means healed enough to climb, spar, and lift more than 10 pounds, or put full weight bearing on any of those broken bones especially your arm"

"I knew ya had a set, Hershel the farmer &amp; that's why I like ya. I just gotta be ready when that batshit crazy psychopath returns. Ya'll remember what I said to ya that one night when I was taping my wrist guard. He might be gone now but no mistake, He will find his way back and he will plan to kill us all as ugly as possible. I don't mean to be a gimpy pussified cripple. I mean to have his head for everything he put me and all of us through."

Lay back down son you ripped your stitches I'm going to try the superglue with the stitches this time but I might have to just cauterize If you rip them again, your skin is pretty damaged with all the previous scarring in that area. This has to be the last time."

_Anyone find the pirates of the Caribbean reference? So the smut is on its way . . . So what ya think. Smoldering build, we can't have it too easy Skya and Merle are both alphas who like to be in control they also both have a big mouth. Merle's edge is wearing down with him getting used to being around people and not having to worry about the agenda, Glenn and Rick are taming down the dickishness causing Merle to be less guarded. He is going to be smarter about rehabbing his beaten up carcass. He's given himself a scare and now he finally gets it that he is still healing and he can't take a primary role in protecting or fighting. Just a couple of more weeks and he will be close to functional. He will be at 8 weeks which incidentally is about when bones are considered healed. Add a couple of weeks more for him due to multiple injuries primitive medical care and less than ideal nutrition._


	31. The Pawn in the Game of Betrayal

**Profanity alert! M for swearing and racially stereotypical but inaccurate nicknames not mine but Merles bad attitude. Merle won't apologize but I do. Just so you know Merle's potty mouth is even worse than mine. Still Merle is fun to write, refreshingly forthright in an uptight world.**

The Pawn in the Game of Betrayal

Merle:

As I roll to sit up after the latest dose of excavating my back is finished, I roll to my right and end up groaning audibly with my arm and shoulder throbbing from my healing bones as well as my newest laceration. Hershel stops me by grabbing my arm and causing me to flinch.

"Heeey Pegleg can ya get my bag and see if ya can fit my cuff onto my useless stinking arm? Maybe at least I can get acclimated to the damn thing again. This phantom pain bullshit is just making my skin crawl. I had Daryl wrap my arm couple of hours ago. Might could fit by now?"

Hershel shrugs "Well son if you had been using your head for thinking instead of landing on it I would try it. But right now I don't advise it. If you reinjured your fractured humerus, the last thing you need is something heavy on the stump to pull the pieces apart. Darn it son without an x-ray I won't know for sure but you've gotten more bruising from your fall and its beginning to swell again.

"Yeah I convinced my lil' brother to help his gimpy ol brother out. I was gonna wear Lil' Merle again so I can at least have one useful arm while Im retraining this piece of shit hand. Can't hold onto crap right now, my cuff at least has straps to hold shit for me. It will help a bit ya know?

Hershel sighs "I know you don't want to hear this but you need to put it back into the sling for a day or so and concentrate on rehabbing your lungs and ribs. No killing walkers either. Find something you can do but nothing strenuous. I know it's hard when you're feeling better but not yet healed. God gave you brains and a second chance. Put them to good use son."

I walk back down the hall toward the cellblocks intending to find me my own cell near my brother or near Skya. I'm convinced that I can get Freckle lumps wanting some Merle action bumping some uglies. HA!– She actually WANTED- a new nickname- she does have beautiful tits and I can almost draw a connect the dot-picture on them. I feel the cooling temperatures on my skin, feeling the horniness rising inside opposing the approaching cold. I smell the walker decay in the air mingling with the scents of decaying leaves, an odd combination. I look through the available cells thinking how drawing on her freckles might motivate me to try to use my remaining fingers in a more coordinated fashion. I smirk at the memory of how I used to draw some nice pinup Boob art on Daryl's casts.

He was 17 when I came home from the military prison. I was out of my head and trying to get off of drugs yet again. Luckily I was still able to get government assistance to get me back on my feet; even though the stupid assholes gave me a dishonorable discharge. The military in their stick up their ass wisdom stripped me of everything I had earned in those five years; including the Purple Heart I received fighting for my country under fire in Granada. I had an apartment and he moved in to get away from our loser old man. He had broken his arm yet again and had a cast for me to draw on. I was always a doodler, not so much an artist but I liked to draw pinups of voluptuous tasty forms.

I remember I drew a redhead with full curves plenty to nip, too bad she was just a drawing. I drew freckles in the form of Orion the constellation. I've hunted and captured many; the ladies sure have always loved ol' Merle. Daryl was working odd jobs &amp; living rough in the woods like a hermit when I came back. Somehow he got laid out by a plank &amp; snapped his wrist. He got lots of shit from his boss, called him "Popeye" due to his cast art courtesy of his kind ol big brother Merle. I shake my head dispelling the memory.

I drop my shit in the cell next to Daryl's and notice all the fucked up mattresses still littering the cells. Fluff and fabric everywhere from my desperate search for a drug induced escape the day before I kinda died. "Awl man just fuck me sideways that shit just won't do"

More I look at my actions the more it really does look like suicide. Here I sit crippled up, unlikely to ever be the same, but maybe I will learn to work around it like I did when I healed from losing my hand. I drop my bag in the corner, getting out my bayonet blade, attaching it to my belt for protection. I walk up and down the halls looking for an intact mattress, I find one too. In the cell next to the one where Rick and I conversed on the day before I nearly died. I can almost smell my sweat from that day as I sat there and listened as he asked me

"_Do you even Know why you do the the things you do, the choices you make?_

_"__I don't know why I do the the things I do I'm a damn mystery to me. Always have been"._

As Rick proposed the ugliest of betrayals, sickening even to me. I must have been out of my damn mind.

I sit there on the intact mattress, feeling like there are two of me. The desperate one who tried to save his brother by sinking to the ugliest of tasks; and now the mutilated one who impossibly survived the governor. Why would I ever trust the man who cuffed me and left me to die, who asked me to do the same thing that I did to Bo peep and Short Round. Yet now I'm the bad guy; the pawn in the game of betrayal. I shake my head clearing away the ghost of my more desperate self.

Now I gotta deal with what those dumbass choices have done to me. Missing my right hand and now my left is mutilated too. Everything I used to do by reflex I have to consider how to adapt my three fingered offhanded grip. Karma is a wily bitch with a fucked up sense of humor. This just ain't funny. It's damn depressing, because I used to be fucking confident even with one hand and the bayonet. I could do anything I just had to be smarter. Now I just don't know. I've not felt this up shit creek with a canoe made of toilet paper in awhile. I shake my head and get back to figuring out my problem at hand (snort).

I don't know how the hell Im supposed to fight this mattress out the door with a fucked up hand and my other arm in a sling. Just might be what the old gimpy farmer means by doing too much. "Fuck!" I start by pushing it with my back and my sound arm getting it at least to the door, then as it gets wedged in the doorway I start kicking the thing trying to maneuver it out of the cell and just not having enough sound limbs to do it. I vomit a stream of increasingly louder frustrated profanity. Short round is the first to bound upstairs no doubt looking to find me acting like the devil he assumes that I am. He slides to a halt face planting into the mattress handing out of the door bouncing off the bars and shoving me back into the cell.

"What the hell man, taking out your frustrations again or more likely you're looking for drugs- again".

"Nah I'm clean now, besides you're the pro for digging in toilets, kinda like the pothead calling the tweaker stoned, if ya git what I mean college boy. I'll only go so low looking for drugs. It takes the edge off a good tweak if it smells like shit". (I snort) I'll be damned if I don't see his mouth twitch in amusement.

"I'm moving into a cell so I can start rejoinin' the living but I ain't gonna sleep on a pile of dissected fluff. I'm having a disagreement with this stupid (kick) Piece (kick) of shit (kick-kick) mattress (kick) that I mother fucking (kick) can't goddamn (kick-kick) LIFT" (wheeze). I collapse against the wall holding my sore ribs breathing heavily, still not even close to my usual level of endurance.

Short Round just shakes his head at my tantrum.

"You know it would serve poetic justice if you did sleep on your mattress of liberated fluff. I would love to see you walk around with it sticking to you. Still I respect your brother and I'll help you get rid of your fluff bomb and replace it with this one. For the record I don't like you but I'm glad Daryl has you back. I still think you're a loser asshole that doesn't live up to your brother. Still you didn't deserve to die alone and turn into a walker."

Okay man let's get this thing to your cell. I'm doing this for your brother not for you.

I smirk at the smartassed little shit and grab the end of mattress with my hand leaving Glen to get the other side.

"Come on Merle aren't you going to help me?

"I'm helpin'ya you lil' shit. I can't lift my fuckin right arm. Fell off a ladder today."

"Merle what were you doing on a ladder in the first place"

"Who are you to judge me? Thought I was just a fucking psychopath, why do you care man? Thought you wanted to feed me to the damn Governor? Ain't that right?"

"Yeah man that was before you tried to kill him. You fucking beat me and tried to kill me and then you allowed the Governor to humiliate her. You just looked the other way. But then you tried to take the whole fucking Governor's army out, by yourself. Dumb move man but brave. You want to go backwards or should I."

I'll go first Short Round. It will help me cradle my end in my hand." I head backward out of the cell and down the stairs supporting it on my arm. Step by step I back my way out trusting that squirrely little shit to guide me so I don't end up on my ass with another broken bone. I support it on my aching hand, hiding my amusement at finding myself backing my way down stairs for the second time today. I reach ground uneventfully and back my way into my new cell. I'm lean my side of the mattress up against the wall, leaning beside it gasping for breath, sweat dripping off my face as the eggroll looks around my new cell.

"Whew man this is a disaster in here. Damn are you sure that you picked the right cell? Still gotta get that mess outta here."

"Ya offering ta help?"

"Yeah man. You don't know it but I owe you an apology. I misjudged you. Rick and I got stoned together, said some things to Daryl that shouldn't have ever been said. But it cleared away some misplaced judgements that I had made about you and Daryl. I thought it was you that had scarred him, but I was wrong. I should have figured it out when Hershel treated you. I saw some of your scars too. I should have figured out that whatever hurt Daryl got through you first."

And I go off like a bomb of red rage

"What the fuck! How dare you even talk about that shit? How could you ever even think that I did that? That's my little brother and I would die to protect him, I almost fucking did" I elbow him in the jaw with my good arm

"You have been judging me since the quarry" I kneel on his arm pinning him

"You never fucking thought anything more than Daryl and I were white trash dog fucking shit as soon as you met us"

And at that he lunges up flattening me on my back landing me on my sore arm "Get off me Greybeard"

"Fuuck" as I see stars and blackness surrounds me yet again

"Shit man sorry Merle" I forgot you're still healing. Shit don't you know better than to try to beat the shit out of someone when you still have wounds healing. Dumbass"

Maggie pops her head in my new and fucked up cell.

"Honey what are you doin' to Daryl's brother? Isn't he still hurt?"

"I heard Merle swearing a storm upstairs while he was trying to move a mattress with two messed up arms. I'm trying to help him and was apologizing how I misjudged him when he got mad and jumped on me. . ."

She walks over and puts a hand on his forehead as he starts coughing and groaning "aren't you overdoing it too. Why would you ever have a reason to apologize to him? "Daddy has spent just as much time on his healing as he has on yours"

That's right he was one of the sick fuckers-stupid assholes messin' with pigs. Don't they know they are filthy fucking animals? Don't even have the sense to disregard their own feces. I'll try anythin' but damn. Porky pig is just not my thing.

The buzzing in my head lets my vision come swimming back, and I can't stop the slight groan as I struggle back to consciousness. However they ignore me.

"Remember when I was still too weak to move around well and I found that weed? Rick and I came back stoned that day and we had had a fight with Daryl."Glen sighs as his coughing fit lets up.

"Yeah honey you didn't say much about it. You pissed off Daryl by acting stoned, but that doesn't make sense. I thought he would be used to that because of his brother"

"No Maggie, there's more. We kinda had a bet about how Daryl got his scars. We kinda asked him if Merle had done that to him in a druggie rage"

"Holy shit Glen. How could you even think that? Can't you see how close they are, even if they don't talk about their feelings much? I bet Merle protected him but couldn't stop everything because he was a kid too. And Honey there are some things that are just off limits. That's one of them. You should have never brought it up again. I don't blame Merle going off on you."

"But Maggie he is still a dick . . ."

"Glen he is a protective older brother – No shut your mouth and listen. I'm the oldest too, you're a middle child you don't know what it's like to be the eldest. That never changes by the way. When Beth is 40 if either of us will see that age; I would still want to protect her even if it means sacrificing me".

"But Maggie . . ."

"That's Merle. What he did for Daryl trying to kill the Governor was meant to save him by sacrificing himself. He was betrayed by the Governor and used by Rick; He wasn't supposed to come back. He didn't plan on dying or living but made sure either way that Daryl would be safe. That's all he was thinking about. Impulsive idiotic brave asshole Merle"

"But . . . "

"You definitely owe Merle now. We're going to clean this stuff out of his cell. You dropped him on his bad back and arm. Of course he passed out, now you owe him. My suggestion? Don't try to apologize for it again."

"Shit Bo Peep, sounds like you got ol Merle pegged don't ya, see the similarities to the ol' gimped up druggie. Is that right? Sounds like ya got yer Chinaman's brains AND his nuts in yer possession. Let me know when you want more than a short little eggroll"

Her green eyes glint as I smirk at them actually cleaning my cell for me as I haul my throbbing carcass off the floor and into my fluff bomb of a cot.

"Merle if you can't watch QUIETLY I will just stop helping you and you know you want the fluff out of your cell. I heard you and Glen arguing about it like high school boys"

I smirk and wonder when I turned into such a pussy but I silence myself with effort and force myself to be content watching the eggroll stuffer and his farm girl clean my cell. My sore spots slow down; their throbbing beat slowing to blues from southern rock. I smirk as the Elvis of my childhood plays in the back of my mind. "Your nothin but a hound dog . . ."as I watch the pussified Chinaman (sorry Kah-rean) and the sexy curves of Bo Peep fix my cell for me. I enjoy her curves shifting, her breasts moving softly under her shirt and I particularly enjoy the glinting eyes of the Kahrean, as he watches me watching.

Later

I take the old farmer's suggestion. I walk around the prison. I surprise the shit out of the damn sheeple helping out in the garden and even pull some weeds for an hour until my ribs and my hand get sore from the exertion. I spent the time in silence working in time with the noise from the walkers (groan) rip (moan) rip (groan) toss (moan) rip. Nearly a perfect beat to accompany my weeding. I drown out the meaningless chatter of the prison women and cripples (these are the types that find themselves digging like pigs in the rich soil of the prison grounds) They don't realize we are teasing the fuck out of the brainless beasts who are salivating not 100 yards away for our warm blood and the marrow in our bones.

Almost ironic that it mirrors a prison work detail. After all I am one to know these things. I enjoy the feeling of my muscles ripple along my back and my sound arm, feeling the late fall sun beating down on my sore hide, kissing my too pale skin. I feel the sting of sweat as it drips into my eyes and my stitched wounds. Rip (groan) rip (moan) toss (snarl) thud (thrash). I just can't ignore them and I start throwing dirt clots closer to them. My stumps ache as I think of how a knife would feel in my remaining gimpy hand, how it would feel to run up and down the fence, stabbing them in a torrential downpour of profanity. I refocus my energy on the weeds. Who even knows if we will be here in the spring?

The Governor will rebuild his army and waste my near death sacrifice, leveling the prison walls and still killing both my brother and I, as well as Skya and her kids, and the sheep from Woodbury. My frustration builds and I grab up my too big shirt and stalk off as the sheep look up from their weeding. I pace the grounds looking for advantages and looking for lookouts hidden in the woods. Nothing . . .yet. Safe . . . for now. I still have time to finish healing and to plan. Figure out what to do if we need a quick exit. My brain is built for planning and after so many years in a drugged haze; I can use it again and it is keener that it has ever been.

The wind curls around my body bringing my stench home to me. I ain't gonna sneak up on anything if I smell worse than a walker. I realize I've not stood under a shower in the 8 weeks that I have been healing. Thanks to duct tape, it is now time to peel off the stink and find a measure of hygiene, and perhaps some better plans

**It's been awhile Peeps but I hope you will still read. My muse has been playing hide and seek with me.****Now Merle is back tugging on my brain stem. I even got through part of the next one (smut smut smut). So yatta yatta AMC/Kirkman owns-I take out for a much needed romp, dusting off the cobwebs. Merle is smirking thinking dirty thoughts. He is ramping up to better health and getting back to the man he SHOULD have been if haddn't detoured with the Governor. **

**Did anyone catch the movie reference? The lyrics of course are the forever amazing Elvis. No doubt Merle grew up with him as an influence. ****I had to use some lines from "This Sorrowful Life" as a flashback. I hope I got them right. It does show the inner workings of Merle pretty nicely. He truly has more layers than a Redwood.**

**If I use similar nicknames for Glen &amp; Maggie its due similar thinking not actually stealing. Please read Reassurance (TheSparrow 93) and also Assumptions (Higgystar) both found in (Archive of our own). I'm not directly using the stories but they explain some of Merle's back stories too well to not reference. They are also amazing writers keep a box of Kleenex near just saying.**

**As always drop a review to me. They are like gold. It will literally make my day. Suggestions are very much appreciated. I take requests especially since I kind of have a free flowing style. I have general plans but I work behind the scenes of the format of the series, so I can usually fit it in. As always I do this for fun. I do love to breathe life into characters who ended far too soon and had a lot of life yet to live. So tell me what you think but no flames please. And back to the action. And by action I mean upcoming smut. Yay for Merle!**


	32. Moments of Normalcy

**_Smut alert Smut smut smuttiness. Oh yeah there is some smut (actually kind of a lot of smut and quite graphic). If you are underage don't even think of reading this (wagging motherly finger). Merle is finally getting some much to his own surprise._**

**If you're not into smut I'm also beginning to rewrite the early part of the story with my wonderful Beta Sinvisigoth. Note this chapter has not yet had the input of my beta, and therefore is at the mercy of my apraxic and dyslexic mind (poor thing). So the grammar is the best I could make it with the skills I possess. I just really wanted something new out there since I haven't done anything in a month due to writer's block. Thank you everyone for your patience and your follows. It means more to me than you know.**

**AMC owns Merle Yatta yatta. I own OC and her filthy mouth. Have fun and happy holidays to all. My you have peace and rest and Joy. ~Lefty~**

Merle

Even later

Yeah she made a very valid point when she was sewing my hide together again. I can smell myself and it just ain't good. Kinda like a junkyard outhouse. That's one of the things from the Marines that stuck with me. I never had good clothing, nice cars, nothin but the fitness of my body and the adequate attractiveness of my face. Still I could lure women in with my confidence. I made sure what I had was neat and fit me well. I kept my hair closely trimmed and my face clean shaven. I didn't like people referring to my curly hair as "cute". That said it's the longest it's been since the Marines and I don't have a damn thing to clip it with, nor my nearly beardlike face which is . . . Grey (ugh).

Still the showers are right in front of me. The two areas of duct tape keeping my dressings clean and dry enable me to finally bask under water for the first time in two months. It's frigid but wet and I will soon be smelling like I should and won't be causing myself or others to wrinkle their noses in disgust. I was able to scrounge up some soap and a pathetic excuse for a towel and I notice that someone has propped up an old piece of shit mirror. I always was a vain fuck even though I've never been more than average in terms of looks. Still although I was into drugs and dealing and fighting, I tried to take care of my body and face. I liked to be able to put a fairly good impression forward; not looking like the monster that I might have been inside.

Now though I'm not sure what I will see. Next to the mirror is a chair. I sit and start pulling things off, nothing fucking fits me. My shirt is easy it's only been hanging around my shoulders since this happened to me. I'm not bothering with threading a somewhat healed broken arm through anything. So I just put my left arm in, throw it around my right shoulder and tuck it in around my waist. These clothes aren't mine the shirt is huge on me. I think ironically it used to belong to T-dog. He dropped the damn key but ended up saving Carol with sacrificing himself. Maybe we weren't so different; he wasn't the one who chained me after all. I can add him to my long list of regrets. I thank him ironicly for keeping my abused carcass warm and pockets that I can hold shit in.

I fold it as neatly as I can. Folding things is not easy one handed and damn near impossible when your other arm is mostly out of commission. Now the pants, I struggle around the damn zipper as I do everyday this time it only takes three tries to get out of them. Lately since I lost my hand I prefer to go commando. Letting the boys whistle in the wind is much more comfortable and less irritating when I gotta dress myself quickly. Brings me to what I dread; shoes and laces.

I've never once tied them myself not in the year since I've lost my hand. I've always found someone to slide in with in the shower in Woodbury. No one really minded as I always gave them a good ride and made sure they came. Afterwards, I got them to tie my shoes. The Governor didn't like wasting water any more than bullets. So showers often led to sex and after sex was shoe tying. The Governor had a huge stock of condoms and morning after pills in the communal showers. Still I wondered how many abortions were being performed. I've never been one to glove my love, sometimes to the detriment of my burning, aching cock. I tangle the fuck out of my laces and end up cutting my shoes off my feet with my bayonet. I drop it several times still clumsy with my new grip, wishing I could tolerate the weight of my cuff on my hand stump. But finally the shoes are off.

Damn those are some stinky feet. Holy shit smells like a walker rotted in there. I don't think my shoes have been off in at least a week. The ground feels funny under my bare feet. I hate being bare foot always have seen it as more primitive than I want to be. Now last and worst is the fucked up arm I peel off the rest of the sling and pull off the compression wraps from my stump; wincing the whole time. I hate to look at the damn thing still uglier than a walker's pussy. Finally I look in the mirror, naked as the day I was born.

It's not good; in fact I look pretty damn awful. I look weak but, my legs and shoulders are still muscular. However, I've lost a lot of weight and I'm the skinniest I've been since I left home as a starving youth for the Marines. I remember walking away from my sobbing little brother, leaving him to be brutalized by our old man. My worst sin of a very long list of poor choices.

I've always been covered in scars. I took many beatings for my Mother and little brother. I have burns, belt marks, buckle tears even 35 years later I still remember each one. The worst one is the ancient burn, low on my stomach, nearly affected my sex life. I continue to regard my aging body. My stomach is flat as always still muscular, but now nearly concave with starvation. My new scars though; one on my upper chest just 3 inches off center is a huge divot thick, red and angry. It's still sore and the ribs beneath are still too tender to lie on. My chest looks uneven thanks to the rib that is healing out of alignment. I turn and look at my back, as uneven looking as my front, but the exit wound is bigger than the entry. Still my legs are sound and my ass is muscular and my spine was never damaged. I can still make a woman scream with pleasure; gimpy or not.

No wonder the sheeple goggle at me like goldfish when my shirt slides away from my shoulders. I can't see my new scars under the duct tape, but the size is there; at least 6 inches long and 3 inches wide. That scar is going to adhere worse than Skya's scar does. Thanks to the fall from the ladder in the guard tower, there is a new zipper down the back of my arm and shoulder blade, and bruising all over my back. No wonder it hurts to move. Still I can move my arm, tender as it is and I don't feel the grinding of my bones as I used to. It will take a week but I will be back on track with my healing after that.

My face now, I see a few new scars but none as bad as I expected. The bridge of my nose has a new scar angling down the side almost reaching my left cheek, and another just on my left cheekbone. I see the old twisted nose and uneven jaw looking back at me. What really strikes me is the lines and bags around my eyes, the increased grey in my light brown hair, curly as a sheep, but at least full without any receding hairline. Still I have both eyes. My smirk is still intact too.

I head to the showers; I turn the water on and shout with the cold.

"GODDAMN FUCK ME SIDEWAYS THAT SHIT IS COLD. SHITFLOWER, ASSPIRATE FUCKING PRISON JIZZ SPITTING, FUDGE FARMER, SOAP HIDING, COLD AS FUCKING WHORE, CLAP SPREADER. MOTHERFUCKING PRISON SHOWER"

I soap up and watch the black ooze of filth trace a spiral around my feet and into the drain. I start shivering violently. As scrawny as this fucked up body of mine is; I won't last long under the ice cold water. Still it's good to be clean. I soap up a second time and end up chasing the soap into the shower room, my damaged grip just not holding onto crap as it shoots away from me like a jizz rocket in a too small condom.

There she is laughing her fool head off, holding my soap. "A little stereotype anyone?"

She's wearing a tank top that hugs her generous curves; jeans that damn near could fit two of her. How the hell is she not walking out of those ridiculous things at every step? Mine would fit her better. Her dark hair greasy and ratty as can be. Her big blue eyes are sparking with humor and her riotous freckles calling me to her, my stumps feeling the ghosts of my hand and fingers just itching to trace them.

"I heard the shouts all the way down the hall. No one does swearing like Merle Dixon. Apparently your stink scared away the soap and it ran to me for protection."

She snorts another laugh shaking her unwashed head.

"Why ya here freckle nips? I thought I ain't respectful enough to ya. I ain't gonna change fer no one. Just like I'm not gonna ask ya to. Shit girl love them freckled sweet sugar tits. That's why I can't get my mind off them".

Not to insult her. I'm just a titty man, can't help myself, and never could. I sigh looking at her delicious nips staring at me like gumdrops.

"Well you couldn't be more obvious Merle. But I'm not fond of being seen as a just a pair of boobs any more than I see you as a set of broad shoulders, strong ass with a foul mouth and a man-whore demeanor. Still a strong ass leads to good fun, and I miss having fun."

"Hell girl. Ya know ya want it. What yer waiting for the end of tha world? Ha darlin, it's here already. Who cares about judgments or holier than thou ideals. Let's fuck and make it good for each other.

"Pre-DICK-table" she singsongs. "Can't you change it up? Porny horndog" as she licks her lips, her tongue teasing gently; promising bad breath but good things.

"Shit Darlin I almost died. It's time for me to live a little. Damn girl yer tight as owl pellets. You could use a good dick tickle more than I need pussy. I know yer a wildcat; can see it in yer smartass smile"

She looks at me with a smirk, she should have been angry, but I guess we resonate better than I thought. She pushed me back, nearly pushed me over.

"Oh Merle you're in for in now shithead. I'm tired of hearing all the talk of how damn good you are. See if you can handle me. You call me wildcat, and freckle lumps. Let's see if you can live up to the legend in your own mind"

She pushed me back with the force of her mouth guiding me back into the shower stall, warming me with her freckled but surprisingly white tits, generous but not floppy; surprisingly firm after popping out two little squirts. She pins me against the stall stretching her length against mine; running her hands up against my chest, ripples of gooseflesh following her nails. The twitching of my cock heralds it just beginning to wake to her touch with shivers coursing up and down my spine.

I work my hand free from her body, bringing it up to cup her generous and soft tits topped with cherry like nips, rising, echoing the stirring of my cock. I bury my nose in the clean smell of her hair contrasting with its' sweaty appearance. Her warmth is helping calm my shivers of cold; replacing them with shivers of want reawakening the hungry spirit of horniness, always so close to the surface. I look her in the eye, seeing a smirk of consent. I lose myself in ripples of fire as my mouth, closes on hers my tongue echoing the building desire of my cock, thrusting between her lips, silent for once. Her hands are massaging up and down the good side of my ribcage as she gently bites my neck, flicking her tongue under my ear.

"Shit girl you can touch me. I may be beat up but I'm not fucking broken anymore. Ya can be rough. Ya know you like it that way"

"Damn Merle if you only knew" she snorts with a spicy smirk gleaming in her eyes. I laugh for once as I fight to push her tank top out of the way and up over her head, but it gets caught in my finger stumps and I can't quite grasp it. I swear under my breath in frustration as she finishes pulling her tank over her hair.

I stop her with her top over her head and her hair sticking out from underneath. I dive into her breasts burying my face between her tits, smelling her odor, a complex mix of sweat, fresh soil, and tomatoes off the vine and the last gasp of several days' old soap. I feel her rising heartbeat on my cheek, and then I re wrap my hand in her top pulling her free throwing it onto the ground. Licking my lips as I watch her berry like nips coming fully erect in excitement.

My body remembers the days while I was walking in my dreams; the unwanted bond of vulnerability, and the echoes of her remembered scent imprinted against my subconscious. My senses were aware of her particular musk, while I was being forged anew by pain, dreams, and the destruction of my body. My abused fingers draw patterns into the freckles of her chest and side. She bends to the side and her hair tickles mine drawing a half laugh from me as I snort into her ribs; as I nibble her side with my hand tracking down toward her pussy. I pull her off me turning her around pressing her back up against the shower stall as my fingers plunge into her heat tuning her up readying her for my plundering cock

I feel her hands drawing gooseflesh of excitement; feeling as horny as a Georgian leg hound at a dinner party. She traces some of the scars on my chest and belly coursing down to my stomach and the wide scar that stretches to my hip, as I realize she has never seen me nude (and awake) and must be noting the crisscrossing red and white lines of my "roadmap". Most women would ask what happened; but she moves on silently to my lengthening prick, thankfully leaving the past in the past buried where it belongs. She wraps her strong but gentle hand around my girth massaging the union of my sticks and stones, bringing me up to my full height almost too easily, wrapping her other hand around my good side to my torn up back.

"Stop Juicy tits, ya gotta savor it. I might be a fucking dick; but I've developed that skill into an expertise. Ya know I always give pleasure, and one hell of a ride."

"Shut up Merle, put your tongue to better use than words" She covers my mouth with hers plundering me wrapping her tongue around mine, biting my lips and working her way back down my throat as, my heart thuds in my chest and my lungs fight to draw air into my aching lungs and ribcage, so recently mended.

I work my good arm up and over hers worming my way into her pants again but stopping to delicately undo them feeling her hips and generous curves as I ease them down side by side, wishing I had two hands to yank them aggressively down her legs. My hand coasts over hips ghosting the rough skin of her scar, massaging gently there where she is so often painfully tight.

She moans in pleasure snorting into my scruffy face lightly laughing as my beard tickles her cheek. Her hands rub up and down my chest eliciting increased twitches from my cock as she brushes by my always sensitive nipples, eliciting flinches from my still healing chest and arm.

"Sorry" she whispers

"Shh I'm fine. I almost don't hurt"

I finally work her pants down to her knees finding her to be as bare under her pants as I was.

"Lookee here Yankee fucking commando".

I feel her smile into my neck as I work her out of her pants walking us over to the chair, bringing my hand back up into her soft silky pussy, becoming warmer and wetter her clit thrumming with excitement. I sit her ass down into the chair, kneeling in front of her, cueing her to scoot her ass down to where I can get at her depths. I smell her lack of hygiene; tasting her natural bouquet, licking her up and down nipping her center, flicking my tongue against her core drawing out the wild cat as she hisses and moans in response to my skill. I taste her as her walls contract spiraling her into natures ultimate high feeling the groans emanating from the depths of her as she drops the rest of her walls and bucks up against me drawing me up on top of her as she finishes.

"Holy fuck girl, yer a handful. How many lovers have ya broken the dick off of"?

She erupts off of the chair spins me around and flattens me. Unfortunately being that we are both large people and the chair is a piece of shit. It compacts like a cardboard bed in a whorehouse. She falls on her back with me landing on her chest. With us both naked, groaning and snickering one on top of the other; gasping together with our wind knocked out; silent as a pair of treed fish after a hurricane.

"You okay Merle"? She gasps.

I'm not going to admit that falling, even though I landed on her, fucking hurt, jarring my banged up arm and ribcage. Still I'm not going to let the twinges ruin my first real shot at pussy since the Governor went unholy batshit crazy and ruined everything.

"Shaddup girl yer breaking the mood."

I roll on top of her bracing myself with my functioning arm chest to chest, kneeling between her legs. I sat back on her thighs trying not to crush her, enjoying the fact that we are more of an even size than most of the women I usually fuck. I consider my lack of functioning appendages, sigh and grab her left hand.

"I need to borrow this" placing her hand on the sore side of my ribcage about halfway down. Hopefully she gets the idea that I can deal with the fact that I'm not so able bodied anymore, but what I can't do is talk about it like a goddamn pussy. Guiding her hand to replace my own still gives me control and she is bright enough to "get" the idea.

Now that I have her holding my right side because I can't yet bear weight on my reinjured arm. I pull myself closer to her, nibbling under her breasts, I am rewarded with a deeply satisfied thrumming in her chest. I expected a ticklish squeak, but I'm beginning to notice that she has few ticklish places (unlike myself). I weave my hand through her hair, although it's greasy it's still silky soft and very thick but not as heavy as it looks. I nip her freckled tits circling the erect nipples, eliciting deeper satisfied groans, smelling again her warm skin and enjoying the softness of her still untoned stomach complete with striations from the two children who marked her. I have always enjoyed the extra curves of voluptuous women. Not obese mind you but just a bit extra. They still need to be fit enough to take up the challenge ol' Merle can hand out.

She guides me down to her warm depths, slick and already primed before our ill timed fall that almost knocked us out of the moment. I let her for a minute take control of me to help me balance so I can penetrate her, still as erect as I can be. Surprisingly she can take my girth without complaint. I often have to hold back. Although unfortunately when I have been in a drug fuelled haze I've sometimes hurt my partners by accident when they couldn't keep up with my uh "generosity". She however is similarly generous, in fact somewhat cavernous and I joyfully send my original "Little Merle" spelunking with abandon.

My lungs and ribs are fighting to keep up since my endurance has not remotely rebounded to my previous level. I thrust deeply, drive fully and watch her eyes as she builds holding on to crest with her before sending us both down into the spiral. She shudders slightly groaning deep and then I take my own reward driving myself up to my climax, shattering myself into a billion shards like a bullet finding Its' way home through my chest; following the bright red track so recently healed. Our hearts beat separately chasing one another back to reality, back to the end of the world while reveling in the escape we enjoyed together. Now we both stink of sex. I groan and rub my throbbing ribcage. I'm really going to pay for this. I roll to my knees seeing the last dribbles of cumm drying in the light brown hair of my groin.

"Come on girl we got to get cleaned up were a fuckin mess." I gather myself to my feet breathing heavily still paying for the fall and the challenge of sex on my still battered body. I stagger into the shower.

"Hey freckle nips where ya put that soap"

She joins me bearing the gift of hygiene so overlooked before the dead walked, now such an unaccustomed luxury.

"Hold on Merle, let me see your back for a minute. Damn the duct tape is unsticking. I hope you haven't always been so hard on yourself".

I feel her gently patting the duct tape down around my open wounds, holding back my winces the best I can, I smile wryly. "Sweet cheeks have you SEEN my back? Life hasn't been exactly gentle and I ain't no pussy. Best that the past is left in the past."

I hear her snort "agreed. We move forward from here. Come on let's get the stink off our skin. My kids and your brother wouldn't appreciate the just fucked look"

I let her pull me into the shower my skin rippling with the expectation of heart stopping cold water. She takes charge putting herself into the cold stream first, soaping herself up then running the water over me. Then she unexpectedly turns the shower off, plastering herself to me using her body to soap mine and simultaneously keeping me warm. I noticed that she wasn't even shivering.

"What the hell sweetnips."

Merle you do recollect that I'm a northerner? Yes?"

"I ain't never gonna forget that while listening to yer stick up the ass accent darling, not likely".

"Well I would do polar bear jumps so I'm used to the cold."

"The hell"?

"We used to walk out on the ice on the lake in winter, break it open and jump in, and then we would have a party, all of us in fluffy robes. I loved it. It was kinda exhilarating"

"Yer nuts"

"Coming from you Merle that's extra complimentary"

"Sweetnips yer gonna waste the shower if ya keep that up"

My pussy tickler is starting to wake up again. I got a taste of those sweet nips now it's all over. She giggles looking down at my nether parts and leaves me to finish soaping myself retrieving the soap everytime it shot out of my gimpy grip. Finally after way too long and through chattering teeth I am finally clean.

I head over to the broken mess of the chair and the snarl of clothing. I lean on the wall beginning the painful task of dressing myself. Never easy one handed but now I have to allow more time with my arm out of commission and my grip limited and still clumsy. I balance and struggle to dry off. At least I can get my butt dry and my pants on. It's frustrating to have to pull up one side at a time and prevent the damn things from falling back down but I finally get the fucking things over my hips.

I'm distracted by the view from the shower which doesn't help the job of zipping my pants one handed get any easier. I finally get it done and start looking for my sorry excuse for a shirt. As I'm leaning over she comes up behind me dripping and exhilarated by the cold barely shivering, looking like someone just made her day.

She grabs my towel and starts on her curvy ass and her generous breasts and I'm thankful that I've already zipped my pants because they are most definitely getting a little tight.

"Shit girl will ya get yer damn cloths on. Shit we'll never get outta here."

"Is Merle Dixon actually asking me to PUT my clothing on? Ha. I never thought that would happen."

"Just want to get back to the block. I gotta fix my cell up, I like it neat. It's still got fluff all over the damn place."

"Whose fault is that? Your brother told me you ripped all the mattresses up hunting for drugs the day before you almost died"

"Did he now"? Im starting to see red reminded of that day

"You and my brother all cozy together, you trying on Merle for size as comparison. Ya fucked him with me sleeping right there fighting for my damn life . . . Shit, shoulda known better. Everyone thinks my damn baby brother has rainbows shining out of his ass but I'm the fucking Devil. Like the Dixon brothers are heaven and Hell".

"WHOA Merle. Where the FUCK did those crazy ass accusations come from? You have the GALL to suggest that I'm fucking around. No, I did not sleep with your brother, most decidedly not right next to you while you were sick from your injuries. Most importantly not right in front of my kids and who are YOU to judge me! You barely even know me. Especially not after we had some really enjoyable sex. Boy do you know how to ruin the post sex high"

"Are you saying you didn't? Then what the hell are you doing here with me?"

"For an intelligent man you are truly a dumbass. Yes of course I didn't sleep with your brother. I never do brothers separately. I only do them together and only with prior consent from both."

Okay now I'm speechless I think something just flew into my mouth.

Now she's laughing; shit her moods are giving me whiplash.

"JOKING! Shit I had to stop your damn mouth from running away with you. The truth is I like a good threesome but not for a long time. I had a set of brothers as my fuck buddies a LONG time ago. I enjoyed them and we stayed good friends after one of them started dating someone seriously"

"So what are you doing? Why sex with me and why now. I thought you were a prude"

"Judging a little huh? No it's not pity sex. Why you? Because you talk about sex a lot and I wanted to find out if you were real. Because I didn't have to worry about the awkward after sex bullshit that I hate. I want a fuck buddy again. I want it to mean nothing more than a release and maybe some friendship, but no complications."

"Im not good enough for ya?"

I'm not sure if I should be happy or pissed off. It's odd not being the one who is pushing the woman away. They usually try to hang on to me after getting a good ride. I'm not sure if she is feeling sorry for me, but I don't read pity or sympathy in her eyes. Just a challenge.

"Merle, shit no. I'm not ready for any complications. I want to enjoy you but not to be pulled into anything more than enjoyment. I need to focus on myself and my kids. I need to make sure we learn enough survival skills and fighting skills before the world crashes down yet again."

She starts pacing as she continues while I'm standing there dumbfounded.

"The crazy fucker who tried to kill you and succeeded in killing almost everyone in Woodbury will come back one day. I just feel it. I want to be ready. I don't have room in this crazy life for the drama of an oh so serious new relationship. I want a friend for me, someone I can enjoy being around and sometimes for sex too. I have a good appetite and after a year of misery, my appetite is waking up again. I just don't need complications. I thought you were of a similar mind set"

"Huh. Shit whatever girl" I'm so stunned I'm grunting like my brother.

"Hey Sweetnips before we leave. I gotta ask ya something important"

"Oh damn Merle are you really gonna ruin this? I need to go get my kids from Beth"

I snort to myself enjoying her antsiness.

"Will you restring and tie my shoes for me?"

She smiles comes over and hugs me being careful of my aching arm, whispering in my ear, "Anytime, you know how I love a good shoe tying".

tying".


	33. Waking the Chickens

**Here is a new one. My story is beginning to venture into unchartered AU areas. A big what if. Merle would have been a catalyst to NOT act as sitting ducks as a result of Rick's inaction. Rick knew that the Gov was out there and batshit crazy. He knew that he had attacked before, yet no one did anything. They barely had guards and definitely did not think like they had to defend the place from attack. Merle has a long history of pretty severe PTSD, its only gotten worse. He's probably had it so long that he doesn't know anything else. He is pondering what to do, being that he knows that the prison will fall, that it's only a question of when and how. Still he is feeling better than he has in a while and is beginning to move more easily.**

**AMC yatta yatta, they own I do not. **

**Enjoy peeps. Drop me a line if you like, I love to hear from readers, it literally makes my day. I also like to hear what I'm doing right and what I can do better. ArcheryLefty**

Waking Up the Chickens

~ 5 am a prison somewhere in Georgia-Late October ~

You ever have a dream that you are sure is real and you hope that you're lucky enough that you're wrong and you are actually dreaming? That really sucks, you struggle to wake up from it and you are terrified but you have no effect on your subconscious. Hate that shit. Knowing my oh so wonderful life history you would think that by this time I've had my share of nightmares enough that I would know when I'm having one. I used to tell my pussified baby brother that "It's just a dream, ain't gonna bite ya" Shit if I only knew how wrong I would one day be. Not only do bad dreams bite but the monster under the bed and in the closet is real and wants you as the main course. Ain't that just some fucked up shit?

I dreamed that I had died when the Gov. shot me, that I bled out alone and abandoned like used up trash; I went vacant and turned, than Daryl found me too late, eating that stupid kid that got in the way. I looked up with intestines hanging from my mouth, staggered to my feet, unable to stop my body from feeling the hunger for my sweet baby brother's flesh. I was still in there, but a mute helpless ghost screaming for release from the hell of my hunger for human flesh.

"Oh God I've never begged before but I'm begging ya now. Don't let me be this. I've been bad. I know I've done wrong. But I was trying to be better. Please if you help me just once. I'll be good. I'll stop being a stupid coward. Please don't let me be a monster. Please stop me from being a walker. Oh please help me just this once. Hear me like you haven't before"

I wanted to bite into him, disembowel him and bury my face in his warm life's blood that once ran through my own veins.

He couldn't hear me screaming "stop me little bro, stop me, stop me. Kill me, kill me. Don't let me be this. No one deserves this not even a fucked up asshole like 'ol Merle."

Daryl saved me, as I attacked him, he pushed me away once then twice then again; finally he jumped me and stabbed my face into mush then he cried until my heart broke. Then only as his knife cut me surgically from life was I free to slip the bonds of my useless body and this time not get pulled back as I died.

My loving spirit, the part I've never been able to share or to put to words; held him as my sweet little brother cried and collapsed. The quality that I called pussiness was his strength-his love for me. Now I held him as I always have (in my heart) when I was gone from his life; but as usual I couldn't protect the one I loved most in the world. The sad part I was unable to prevent the damage, yet again I was breaking his heart by leaving without a goodbye.

Well that is how I woke from that God awful dream. My heart was hammering, I was pouring sweat, I was crying and I had pissed myself from pure horror. I'm not sure whether I was more upset with the sleep peeing or crying. I'm used to cleaning up a messy bed in the morning but it's usually from sex dreams not sleep piss. My first night alone in my new cell as a functioning person and I celebrate with incontinent nightmares, godammit I'm only 51, too young for that shit.

I lay for a moment more in my foul bed feeling my heart slow and taking deep painful breaths feeling the new scar tissue inside my lung and within my skin stretch and resist. I feel the deep ache in my healing bones as I collect myself to move and get myself and my stinking prison bed cleaned before anyone shows up. I just know that was no silent dream, being that I'm about as quiet as a tomcat with a bell tied to his damn tail.

I groan and sit up running my pathetic excuse of a hand through my unruly curly hair and scruffy face, still feeling shaken from my all too realistic dream. I'm hoping that I have a change of pants in here somewhere. Too many kids running around for pantslessness, even ol' Merle has limits. Yep still got the ones that are still bloodstained from the day I nearly died. I put them on and realize how much weight I've lost. Fortunately they have an easy zipper and I've rigged the button with elastic for easy one handed use. I might be a gimp but I'm a smart one. Up to now I've never appeared gimpy, I fought just as well, if not better with little Merle, my cuff.

I sigh; I still have to work up to that. My arm is still a hot mess. Painful with the healing fracture and I can move it, sort of but I can't push with it, lean on it or sure as shit can't throw a stump punch with it; it just beats fuck all. Restrengthening my arm is just such a damn tedious process.

Yesterday had seen me working on my snares, recruiting Carl and some of the older kids to help me tie the knots and I've started showing them how to find the game trails to set up the snares.

Oddly enough Skya was absent from my side after the wonderful sex we had day before yesterday. Now the ladies have always loved 'ol Merle. I always give on hell of a ride, the main attraction of the sex amusement park, (snort) sometimes I'm the demon drop sometimes the fun house complete with good drugs. Yes I was at the height of the sex; drugs &amp; rock n roll generation. Good times man! But I digress. No fucking attention span killed too many brain cells I guess.

I'm used to the woman trying to hang onto me even with my foul mouth and impulsive hotheaded nature. I was planning to live fast and die handsome and young. Shockingly I'm still here, no longer handsome or young; but also no longer an actively using addict. I never expected to kick my habit; (snort) it only took the end of the world, but it feels good to be clean. The remnant of the itch for drugs will always be there like my other scars, but the pain of need is gone. The drug industry died with all of the druggies, probably around the time I had lost my hand and was fighting the dual fever of withdrawal and infection before I woke up in Woodbury.

Skya is hard to figure, she has two little ones to protect and yet she claims to not want me for more than sex and friendship. Hmm how did she say that; fuck buddies. I would expect her to be Daddy shopping. I would think she would want my oblivious little brother, not me. Shit I'm no fucking catch, I'm not able to hold my temper and stop scaring the shit out of decent folks on a good day. I'm still not sure that I believe her. I don't need some citified pampered educated wench dragging my baby brother down with her, depending on him to save her kids and getting him killed for it. Still I owe her my life in so many ways; her donated blood, keeping me from coughing myself to death, making sure I didn't stop breathing, and waking me when the dreams made me dangerous to my healing ribs.

The least thing I can do is show her how to use a damn gun and to track. Maybe also find some edible plants, keep herself from getting lost in the woods, how to throw a knife, how to take a man down hand to hand, how best to kill a walker, how to skin and cook a rabbit, squirrel and shit like that. Well the list is a long one and I done got my work cut out for me.

Maybe that will stop her from dragging me and Daryl down with her and even teach her to be some use other than sewing wounds together. Her medical skills aren't any damn help in fighting something or keeping her family fed. You can't eat a book after all, and her knowledge won't feed her if she's gotta take those kids and run into the woods or the mountains. Winter is coming soon, the Governor will return and Rick crazy asshole that he is, is still playing with his vegetable patch. Well one veggie to another I guess, it suits him almost too well.

I hear my brother's smoke induced morning cough coming closer, and there he stands my sweet baby brother, still shorter, still a smaller bone structure, but for once larger than me thanks to my skinniness. He silently is cocking his eyebrow at the noise he presumably heard coming from my cell. I have a voice that stands out after all.

"Whatya need Darlina?" as if I don't know. I'm starting to shiver sitting on my cot thinking hard not realizing that I'm naked and still stinky, holding my clean change of pants while I was deeply lost in my thoughts. I didn't notice until I see that long nose of his twitch like a rabbit.

" . . . the fuck ya doing sitting there naked yelling yer damn head off?"

"Nuthin. Just waking some wild turkeys up, maybe hunting them later."

I stand up and balance while I'm trying to one handed pull my pants up, as I'm goading my little bro. Although not the most hygienic, Daryl is fussy about it in others. You ask me his nose is half blind unless the boy is hunting, and then it's better than a damn hound.

Shit, my pants keep falling down with my one handed method. I sing a naughty little rhyme to the tune of London Bridge to fuck with the boy and see if I can make him grump this early in the morning. It's my favorite hobby after all.

"Now my pants are falling down, falling down, falling down. Now my pants are falling down. Makes me horny"

Finally I get the damn things up balls washed and all, hopefully smelling less like night terror fluid overload.

Daryl is shaking his head "yer a dumbass"

"Still not telling me what ya here for boy. Standing there gaping like ya left yer brain in yer cell"

"You were yelling"

"No shit bro. Ya think I'm gonna survive what I did without a little nightmare sometimes. Shit bro did ya forget that I'm a noisy sleeper. Ya add dreams about my hand and the Governor and shit. Ya think I' gonna count pussies all night. Yer crazier than officer friendly"

"Ya got me up"

I just laugh. This shouldn't really surprise him. This kind of shit happened constantly when we were kids. "Ya should be thankful that I'm not walking around bareassed sound asleep. How many times did the old man kick my ass for that shit?"

Yep saw that twitch, Daryl is laughing. There was an old lady next door to us when Daryl was a kid and I was almost grown up but still living at home. She nearly tripped over me sound asleep naked on her porch after a particularly bad bender. I even got shot in the ass by her old man. Daryl spent an hour digging birdshot out of my ass and back, I couldn't sit right for a week. Missed out on some pussy too, damn those were the times.

"Ya bro yer so ugly now they might turn you outside thinking yer one of the walkers"

I just looked at him; I got up to dig up a shirt. Started threading my useless injured arm into it wincing as I paced.

"That's what I dreamt of man. I died when Crazy Eye shot me. I turned and was eating the dead when ya caught up to me. You had to end me before I done got ya too. The thing was; I was dead but I was in still there, held from getting outta my stinking corpse and I had no way of letting ya know I was there. I couldn't stop my body or do anything to tell ya. I ate human flesh and I was screaming for it to stop. I was begging for you to kill me. But you couldn't hear me and I was helpless. It was the most horrible fucking dream of all time, and I've had some bad ones before. It's getting more and more vivid too, each time I have it"

Daryl looks at me out of the corner of his eye "Shit man, Godammit Merle that's ain't funny. Don't joke about that shit!"

"I ain't joking. I've been having that same damn dream since I almost died. We need a plan man. You know he's coming back. I know Michonne and you have been going on runs and couldn't find the fucker. He's out there though and he's coming back, he ain't gonna give up and you know it. He might think I'm dead but he wants Rick, Michonne and you. He wants everyone dead, even the babies. We need a plan bro, just us and those we pick. If shit goes south, I want you to find Paw Paw's cabin above cave springs. Ya remember where that is right? The walkers can't climb or swim. We can build there; we will have forests, water and all. Remember. Up the mountain, the highest ledge, you can drive part of the way. Then you have to row into the cave and bring your own light. I will leave you tracks on the wall."

I continue as I pace "If we get separated we both head there, the cave entrance that you want is on the highest ledge. Whoever gets there first needs to start building cells like the prison cells inside. No one will know we are there and it's high so it's defensible, it can't be knocked down, because it has natural walls and more than one exit so we won't get trapped. Remember Paw Paw used to do his taxidermy there when Gran kicked his work out of the house because of the stink. Think about it; what happens when the canned food isn't available, when it goes bad. We need to be somewhere that we can defend. Where we can make a life, where we don't gotta rely on some psychopath killing people for supplies, or some crazy ass fuck seeing shit and talking to himself."

"Merle ya tell anyone 'bought this shit?"

"No man and neither will you. Ya hear me boy? I mean no one. Not yer buddy Rick. Not Skya absofuckingly no one!"

I grab his shirt in my paw and pull him up to my face and glare into his eyes to make sure he knows I'm serious. Our lives may one day rely on disappearing. We gotta keep this quiet and pick the right people. I know we gotta have some people. I've learned some things since I was injured and so vulnerable. They hated me and yet they cared for me and made sure that I survived. I'm willing to try this being reliable bullshit. Even when I was part of Woodbury, I had an agenda to find Daryl, and use them all for that goal. I would have been there not one second longer.

Daryl looks at me gnawing on this thumb as he pulls out of my grip considering my ideas

"Whatever man. Get the fuck off me. How the hell are you going to climb up there ya dumbfuck. You had major shit fits climbing the lookout tower and look at your back when you fell. You think you will coast in there easy clean all the walkers out when you have no hands much less climb and farm and hunt".

I jump up bite back a groan and spin kick his feet out from under him as he falls with a crash against my bed frame.

"Any other questions boy. I may be injured and limited in some ways but I can work around it and still be on top. I can still flatten YOU, pussy boy. AND I'm still healing. When I get my strength back, I'll be better than I was even minus the pieces that are gone. Ain't ya looking so sure of yourself now Darlina. HA. Time ya remembered that I ain't gonna check out quite so easy. Me and you were made for this shit."

~Later that morning~

Michonne POV

That stupid man, Merle has been pretty quiet up to a week ago. He never makes sense. Rick told me once right after the Governor tried to kill him; he admitted that he is so impulsive that he can't even predict himself. That's how he allowed himself to be trapped by Rick and the Gov. His potential makes him the most frustrating. He is intelligent; he is talented in a form of martial arts, looks like Aikido, probably a high degree of expertise. He is even a Marine sharpshooter. He is interesting to talk to when he isn't in the middle of losing his shit and doing something just plain asinine. Under all that bullshit he is a decent man who allowed him to be ruined because he followed an absolute lunatic that fed him a line of crap. Still he feels conflicted about what he's done, even though he won't allow himself to know that.

I watch him from the guard tower while remembering his desperation when I tried to make him let me go and come back with me.

"This could have been your shot, with the training you have, but you're throwing it away"

"I. can't. go. back. Don't you understand that. I can't."

It's true. He didn't. He went forward and luckily I went with Daryl to stop him; we made it just in time to save him but were unable to prevent him from being grievously injured. He will never be the same again. He will always need people now. His only hand is ruined and his ribcage and lungs will make him short of breath for a long time to come. He probably is telling himself he is choosing to let people get closer to him but he knows deep inside he has no choice anymore. He needs people now and always will.

I watch him slowly jog up and down the fence harassing the walkers with his smell of fresh blood and blistering profanity vomiting from his mouth leaving a trail of cussing wherever he goes. I can hear the painful groans emanating from him when he stops and collects himself, leaning on his legs taking deep shuddering breaths under the tower as he passes by giving me and Carl the finger. I wave at him and stick out my tongue, which makes him laugh again and clutch his side more. He straightens up wiping sweat from his face and starts another lap.

Carl just shakes his head

"How old ARE you? 8? And you're no better than him. Why do you even bother? He's just an asshole druggie"

"Tell me something Carl. Do you remember how your Dad told everyone how he sacrificed me and actually Merle too? Yet we all gave him the benefit of the doubt and we still trust him and count him as part of our family."

"yeah"

"Merle knows he did wrong even though he hasn't said as much out loud. But he has paid a bigger and more permanent price than anyone else. He is trying to do his part even though he has a lot of healing yet to do. He is teaching you and the others to track and to hunt. I know that you're helping him make snares to catch small game. He's fixing mechanical stuff too, although I bet that hurts him being that his missing fingers are still healing. Yet he's doing his best and not making problems for anybody"

"Yeah but that's redneck crap."

"Never underestimate how useful any survival skill is. It may save your life one day. I've never seen him under the influence, how can you still consider him a druggie?"

"You should have seen him at the quarry. He was always stirring up trouble getting people to fight. Saying mean stuff. Racist and chauvinistic too"

"That was what just at the beginning of the outbreak after the evacuation, right?"

"Yeah"

"A lot has happened since then, to each of us. From the looks of it even more so to him"

"Speak of the devil. The jerkface is back"

I watch him walk up with his right arm clamped to his side as if he wants to knead his muscles but lacks the hand to do so. As it is he is rubbing his stump back and forth across his side and chest."

"Ya got any water up there Nubia? Ol' Merle could handle a little drink about now."

I smile at his dubious way with words as Carl's hackles palpably rise. I can almost hear the growl, as a young alpha wolf begins to want to show his dominance near the older rogue wolf who is even now wiping sweat and breathing heavily stretching his healing lungs and ribs.

I whisper to Carl "Cut it out. Now. He's not doing anything to you or to anyone. It's his way of joking"

I smile over the edge and drop down a water bottle and a rag as he nods and smirks

"Thanks darlin. I'm parched. Pretty late in tha' season to be this warm. Damn. I'm gonna feel this. But gotta get strong again. Ain't never gonna happen lying on a cot in a corner. Carl can ya check our traps. Take Liam with ya if you will. Remember what I showed ya. Right?"

"Sure thing Merle. Hey. It's good to see you getting better."

"Holy sheeeit. Lil' officer friendly being nice to the big bad wolf. Ha. Never thought I'd see the day. Later kiddo. Seeya Nubia"

I can hear his spirited gruff laughter as he walks away briskly shaking his head twisting his shoulders as if his back is sore. He is looking better every day. But it's still a long shot for him. But unexpectedly I really hope he makes it.


	34. Ain't But a Half-Mile From Hell

**It's been a while and life has been intrusive as heck. I'm starting to depart from the canon story line, and now I'm delving into more original storylines with some canon added here and there. I plan to continue to make it character driven with some action added in because Merle has the energy of a caffeinated and foul mouthed three year old in a beaten, mangled up 50 ish year old healing body. Still he is almost healed and now he is rethinking some of his choices. Things he used to think and do are no longer sitting so well with him. Maybe a little OOC for Merle, but he is learning and healing and it has been a long miserable process. Now we have a different Merle due to the simple fact that he has had the opportunity to bloom, be drug free, and be around people who are not murderous psychopaths. **

**I wanted to note that I am not the owner of the wonderful photo of Michael Rooker the amazing and versatile actor who portrayed Merle, relaxing on a flatbed trunk against a pile of crates reading; my favorite Merle photo, it captures his depth and the many layers not revealed. Mature for Dixon mouth and mild racist, stereotypical nicknames. I really did try to tone it down being that we didn't see him saying much of that in season 3; more in humor than as hate (still I don't joke in that way but Merle does). As always AMC and Kirkman own all but the OC. I just feed him caffeine and enjoy the ensuing chaos. I've got that three year old energy too.**

**Please review. It will literally make my day. Love ya all. Hope you liked the MSP.**

**Later, Lefty**

33 Ain't but a half mile to hell

Sasha

I'm just beginning to feel stronger since the flu. I was finally able to climb up into the guard tower and be somewhat useful. I'm spending the afternoon being on guard duty. Amazing that such a little bug, something that would have been handled easily with a hospitalization before the walkers rose, could result in my near death experience. I never considered that death stalks us with disease as well as by walking corpses.

I watch the woods around the prison for any sign of the sick bastard who wants us dead. Rick showed me how to scan for snipers and now I watch for any signs of danger. How long I wonder until the Governor comes back? We all know that his kind of screwed up crazy doesn't just disappear or quietly die on its own; now we have the misfortune of witnessing natural selection of the unkindest form. I notice the pathetic walkers struggling and straining against the fence, snarling and intent only on their drive to consume our living, warm bodies. It's easy to forget that these were people who once had lives. They worked, they celebrated holidays, some had children, and some had pets. They all once were human, they all lost everything. They all had no one to put them down as the final act of love; of mercy. Now that is up to us . . . or Merle.

I watch as he runs up and down the fence energetically stabbing walkers, leaving an ongoing commentary of insults and profanities in his wake. I have been amused while I was on watch listening to his typically noisy one sided foul mouthed conversation. Watching blood and guts coat his arms and shirt; their brains and congealed blood making soft splats against the ground; their bodies and severed parts falling almost gracefully into stinking heaps, finally silent, finally without struggle, now at peace.

"Yer so ugly y'all make a buzzard puke its guts out. That's right ya bastard take that. Come on bitch I got something for ya too, ya dirty whore. Goddamn ya smell like a junkyard outhouse. There ya go put ya outta my misery. Let's go ya can try but ya can't get me. Come on follow me. Ha ya dumb asshole. Come on see if ya can get me. Boy if stupid could fly you would be an eagle. Yer too dumb to be staggering the fuck around. Ha come on ya want more I got it . . . Oh shit I can't fucking breathe".

He walks away from the fence clamping his right arm to his side and leaning over sucking wind. He sits down elbows on knees coughing and wheezing. I scan the forest as he recovers a quiet counterpoint to the noise of the walkers by the fence as they snarl and growl. He lies back in the grass rolling his gore soaked t-shirt up his scarred chest, absorbing the sun's rays in his shockingly pale skin.

"Yeah the sun feels good on this beat up shit. Damn me but I feel as old as farmer Hershel".

It was easy to forget about Merle while he was healing and Skya was the only misguided soul who chose to put up with the ungrateful asshole. Still no one deserves the catastrophic injuries he suffered at the hands of the governor and his thugs; masquerading as wannabe soldiers. On a side note the main population of the prison has had one noisy, crass and rude addition. Merle has moved up from the infirmary. He had been there healing since they brought him back from Woodbury. He put his life on the line for his brother and the rest of this group, for once choosing impulsive bravery over explosive brutality. I heard the others tell their stories about him, what he used to be when they knew him before the prison; while we were watching and listening to Hershel, Skya and Daryl working to save his life. This was a few days before the Governor attacked that last time and finally turned on his civilian army in a rage of batshit craziness.

The last week has been a parallel of me walking around the grounds trying to build up my endurance at the same time Merle has been working himself in a similar manner. I've avoided the idiot but have seen him from a distance feverishly working to strengthen and regain use of his broken handless arm. Merle lays on his side for a few minutes then levers himself up for another round, running up and down the fence with creative swearing.

"I'm gonna stab ya pathetic bastards, come on who's next? I got plenty to go around; no one's gotta feel left out. Don't be lazy ya used up sundried raisons. Ol' Merle here wants ta party. Ya gotta go ya stupid loser. Move it shithead yer piling up like a cord a wood only stinkier. Ya think ya can get me ya worthless old cripple? Think again, ya got less brains than a chicken in a fishbowl. Damn yer so ugly ya'll make a maggot look good"

I'm wondering when he will give out; I've been watching him run up and down the fence stabbing them with his knife tied to his weakened hand and his right injured arm now wrapped in leather. He takes breaks every so often to cough the damaged lung funk up from his toenails. Wheezing and groaning his right arm stump rubbing ribs still healing. Merle is well on his way to returning to the rugged fighting man he was before. Yet, he has a bad cough and obviously his broken bones and damaged hand still cause him pain. He doesn't want to admit it but his pain slows him down when he thinks he is not being watched.

I'm tired of just watching, crass or not I'm impressed with his determination. I've watched him show the older kids how to tie knots and to set snare traps, sometimes getting frustrated and stalking off in an explosion of profanity; leaving the kids staring after him in confusion. Yet he never asks for help or gives up on anything, no matter how tedious or painful. As I've lately been on watch a lot, I've been observing the prison grounds. I see the farmers bringing the harvest in and Daryl teaching others how to use a bow while Merle supervises the knife throwing practice. Now I watch Merle slow down collapsing in a wheezing, sweating, coughing heap at the base of my guard tower. I yell down at him.

"Hey Merle. Are you okay?"

He jumps up bent over shaking as he sucks air not quite able to look casual but trying to.

"Hey there Brillo, whatcha doin?

"Oh you know keeping watch. Wait a minute. Brillo? Uh unh. I refuse to answer to that."

Merle continues to cough, disguising it as a laugh.

"Oh shit girl just bringing up some damn cobwebs. Christ!"

"You're looking better Merle"

"Ha. Ya'll need yer eyes checked. I've never been a pretty boy but the ladies like me where it counts. Ya looking for some Merle action I see, getting a rise from watching my ass. UmmHmm"

"You keep telling yourself that Merle. You're ridiculous . . . and deluded. Just because I'm glad you're getting better doesn't mean I want to have sex with you. I'm not into aging assholes. I hope for your case someone is; but not this girl. I like someone who respects me and treats me like a lady even if I don't smell like one"

"Ya don't know what yer missing. I'm GOOD. I coulda taught ya something, ya look like you could use a good ride. Yer loss Mocha. See ya around."

Merle straightens up coughs twice holding his ribs with his stump and jogs off to bring chaos to some poor unsuspecting soul. Mumbling "She's a purebred dog in a kennel full of mongrels"

Merle

It's been a week since Skya and I had sex and sure as her word, she didn't act like she wanted me for more than sex and friendship (hmm sounds like a drink name). Good thing too ( I think), still she's easy on the eyes and the strange crap that pours out of her mouth isn't as tiresome to listen to as most broads. She's also adventurous in the sack and she doesn't look at me like I'm a baby eating psycho.

I've been thinking of how to make a glove to protect my fingers and strengthen my grip. Maybe make it like a metal fist; at least the back of my hand and to lengthen and protect my newest stubs. It could even be a knife worn on the back of my hand where it wouldn't interfere with my grip. However it's gotta be designed so I can to in and out of it without straps. I don't have but one fucking hand and just part of one at that. I can't be bothered with messing with straps in a survival situation. Being that we aren't but a half mile to hell; I gotta be able to punch and use both sides, the cuff on my right and some type of gauntlet that I can get out of immediately if I need to.

My right arm is finally out of the damn sling and I can tolerate the leather part of the cuff now; lined with cotton on Hershel's recommendation. I'm decreasing the swelling with ice massages given by Skya in addition to the compression wrapping. I will finally put my cuff on again in the morning and Hershel will take out the last stitches out of my back and shoulder.

I'm sitting in the flatbed of a truck covered with a tarp, digging through some maps of the area, and of Woodbury. It's time for me to figure shit out. I'm planning a run to Woodbury. I gotta visit where I nearly died, I gotta see where I used to live maybe even collect supplies from the rubble. I'm gonna plan how to get to my grandfather's old hunting cabin on the ledge of a forgotten old cave. It was too far from my Dad's piece of shit house to take Daryl when he was little. It was too cold for a kid to live in without the right supplies. Now it seems perfect, defensible, and large, with water and hunting available to those with the right knowhow; even sunny ledges to build on. I'm sitting here outside smelling the fall rain, finally able to get my damaged back into a warmer shirt now that the fall is truly here. I trace our route north to the mountains near Jasper far away from here. The Governor will come back, not if but when. He's out there somewhere gathering his army readying himself to come and destroy us, Daryl, me and this new family of ours.

It's probably been 3 months since I was shot in the chest. I'm finally functioning more like I should but not yet completely mended. I still have plenty of twinges from my mending bones and gunshot wounds. I still bump my finger stumps uncomfortably when I'm trying to grasp something. It will be awhile before I really get used to my grip again. I know I will never really get my mind wrapped around it any more than I did with my hand; and now I'm effectively a double amputee. Somehow I'm still here kinda like the roach that I've often been compared to, and yet I survived while so many did not.

I need to start preparing for the journey north thinking of how to disappear from this fucked up world and live off the land as I was taught to do so long ago by Paw Paw, my grandfather. That was before the drugs, alcohol, military and cheap slutty women. That was when I was 12 and the world was still possible. Daryl was only 4 and he barely remembers but that is okay because I taught him when he was old enough. Lucky for him that I taught him to hunt and track, to find food and shelter in the wild. That is how he survived the abuse and starvation from when I left him alone with our useless bastard of a father.

As he got older he found his way there again to the now abandoned hunting cabin nestled into a cave ledge. It's hard to reach unless you come through the cave river by boat and find the path up into the cave and out to the ledge. He lived there for a couple of years when he was a teenager before I came back from the military; living there when he should have been in high school. So I came home to my illiterate brother gone missing and my Father too damn drunk to care. I came home warped from 18 months in military prison to a dump of a house; silently thanking my dead grandfather for teaching us how to live in the wild.

I found my brother in the cabin 17 years old with a broken arm from a construction accident. I talked him into coming home with me, home to my new apartment, away from our drug addled Father, maybe even to try to get back to school. We went into the forest, both of us to heal in the balance of nature. We came back to collect Daryl's things and found a trashed house and a rotten smell. My Father had finally died from an overdose and no one had come looking for him. Poetic justice for the hell he put us through. I was so glad that I told my little brother to wait with the bike. He didn't need to see that, he was too much a pussy, lived too much inside his head; he wouldn't ever have been able to unsee that nasty shit if you know what I mean.

I didn't realize that I had fallen asleep sitting on the truck bed against the crates and in a pile of old grain sacks, maps spread out on my lap with the tarp overhead creating a tent out of the gentle rain; thinking of the cabin in the cave and my grandfather's lessons in life. Lessons that for so many years were nearly erased by my drug filled lifestyle and the bitterness of my many failures.

I retraced my steps in my dreams to the the day I returned to Daryl from the military. I walked up the path of the mountain; after having ridden my bike past cave springs, away from Jasper and past where the hikers go. Finally I reached where only the most serious hunters spend time. I leave my bike in the small mouth of the cave. I walk on the edge of the cave stream with a flashlight in my hand and rope and other supplies in a back pack. I hear my feet scuffing the floor of the cave, echoing in its depths, reminding me that we are strangers here under the earth. I feel shivers start in my arms, silently thankful for my warm leather jacket. I see the tracks in the cave floor barely visible, a large wide foot of similar size to my own. I smell the musky texture of layered scents, the pungent scent of the hot springs deep inside the cave, the earthy tone from the muddy banks of the cave hewn by the river. I hear the dripping sounds of the river percolating deep into the earth. I breathe deeply and I instinctively find the path traveled so frequently by my feet and my brother's; following the silent shadow of my grandfather gone before us, whispering in my mind,

"Don't ever let him go, you love him better than anyone, it's just him and you"

I wound my way through passages gradually up higher and higher, black as the heart of my Father who left us both covered in scars. I felt my heart hammering in the back of my throat. Would I find my brother dead, addicted to drugs? Would he be too feral to speak or would he hate me forever? Finally would he understand that I had to choose between being a Marine or murdering our father? It's a choice that no 17 year old; even one as troubled as I was should ever have to make.

"It will be alright, you'll make him love you again. You just have to be patient. Don't talk, just show him". Paw Paw always was whispering in my mind here.

I found the back entrance to the ledge after many circuitous paths; after finding so many other dark dank rooms, remembering the inherent dangers of cave living. Always light where your feet are going and mark your trail. My trail was still there from so many years before when Paw Paw's hand really was touching my yet unscarred back when I was 12. Now at 24 I felt his hand again on my ridged back, guiding me toward my brother. The light of day exploded into my face as I stepped out on the ledge blinding me and the cabin's solid wall stopping me. I found my way to the door and shoved it open, falling into the room and finding it empty but smelling of my brother. I tripped over his cot and knocked myself out when I face planted into the solid wood floor. I woke up later to being shaken awake, with blood on my hands from breaking my nose when I fell.

"Wake up shit head. You have a lot of balls coming here after you left me. What the fuck do you want now?"

And there he is, my shrimpy half starved little brother; dirty clothes, stinking. He has a dirty cast on his wrist, with some badly done smutty pictures drawn on it. I will have to draw some better porn when he is asleep. I have always had a talent for drawing and I had neat handwriting when I still had the use of my right hand. As it is now; I will never write or draw again.

"I'm back man. I'm done with the fucking military. I thought you were dead when I went to Dad's house. He's bad man. He didn't even know where you were; the dumb bastard."

"No shit Merle. He's not the only dumb bastard in the family. Some brother you are to me. You just leave. You don't say goodbye. You don't find someone who will even make sure I had food. Then you fucking come back once to check on me, then nothing. It's like I have no brother. You didn't even know I was up here. You didn't know that Dad is out of his head on booze and needles, fucking trying to stick them into me too. I would be dead right now if I hadn't left no thanks to you".

"Shit man I didn't know. Why didn't you write? Why didn't someone tell me?"

"Like you didn't know, it's not as if it even mattered. Dumbass. You knew but you didn't let yourself see it. You just were hell bent on getting your own ass out. You didn't care if it meant the end of me".

"Didn't care? That was bullshit and you know it. I protected you for as long as I could but no one was protecting me. Anyway how about that last fight. Children's services came to protect you. I couldn't take you with me and I couldn't stay. I would have killed him and I would have never seen the light of day again. You gotta know that. You would really want that for me?"

Daryl finally looks up from his pacing.

"I didn't want to starve. I didn't want to be on my own at 14 when I woke up nearly dead after he stuck a fucking needle in me".

"I guess you didn't get any of my letters. I only came back once because they shipped me off to war in Granada. I was a sniper and saw some live action. I saw some fucking shit things. You just don't wanna know so don't ask. I got shot through the side. Then I got sent home stateside because I got in a fight with my cotton picker commanding officer. He pulled shit on me blocking my advancement because he said that I was redneck trash. So of course I done busted his fucking afro wearing ass; knocked his teeth out of his head. The look on his face was worth every minute in the damn brig; when he spat those 5 teeth out. Kapow".

He stands in front of me pulling my shirt up to look at my side. He sees them; a perfect circle on my front and back just below my lowest rib. I hold my shirt just above that so to not show anything more than my two year old bullet holes.

"Shit Merle you could have died"

"Yer next little bro. The hell you did to yer arm? What that like the fourth time you've broken it. Ya haven't learned to duck yet, huh? What are ya thinking son?"

The squirmy little runt wormed out of my grip dancing beyond me. How a kid that is obviously stunted has such big feet is beyond me and how he can move so well without tripping over them is uncanny.

"Nah man there's nothing ya need to see. And my arm was just a construction accident I slid off a damn roof when it started raining. I left Dad a couple of years ago. Been doing odd jobs since then for the pussies in town, been livin' here and hunting. I'm doing Okay. He doesn't beat me or stick me with his damn drugs anymore. The fucker gave me too much. I don't think he meant to kill me. He's just a dumbass"

Then I felt the cave shake as the earthquake hit. Except it didn't; that was just Daryl finding me in my nest and shaking me awake in the bed of the truck. Even now he knows I'm liable to come awake swinging.

"Been looking for ya man, shit you still catching up on sleep I thought you were over that. Time ta go hunting dumbass, ya too old to remember shit? Git yer ass down, man. I got a couple of weapons for ya."

I sit up and put my maps away stretching my arms and chest, rolling my head and grunting as my ribs and right arm creaked into the right place. I scooted over to the edge of the truck to slide down and noticed that the rain had passed leaving an overcast moody sky. I smelled the scent of late fall leaves rejoining the soil. I hopped down and sauntered up to my brother sticking my jaw out at him.

S'okay son what ya got. He revealed a nice revolver with a top load design, with a silencer and a couple of extra clips; something I can use easily with one mangled hand.

"Let's see what we can find man" I nod at him and cover him, bringing up the rear.


	35. Bayonet Honed

Bayonet Rekindled

**_I'm still here peeps. It's taking me longer because I need to do research into Merle and Daryl skills. Medical knowledge is far more instinctive for me to write but now that Merle is mostly healed, I have to do much more research and I have to do more revisions to get my facts mostly accurate. Now that he is getting better he still has to deal with the PTSD, he's a man with quite a few triggers. He needs his brother to back him up not to treat him like he's incapable. He just can't quite put it to words, so the best alternate is Dixon punctuation: AKA copious and over the top swearing. So my apologies for Dixon mouth as well as my dyslexic lack of grammar. The boys almost almost made me blush while they were wrestling each other in my head. You know the drill Kirkman owns I do not. If I did I would be rich and Merle would be alive. Enjoy peeps. And many thanks for those of you are still reading. You matter to me more than you know. Thanks to Merle and Daryl and their wonderful actors Michael Rooker and Norman Reedus for breathing life into them._**

I follow him, my baby brother, letting him lead the way, trying to wedge my leather covered stump back into my metal cuff for the first time in three months.

"Hold up bro, I gotta get little Merle on first before I can head out. Need ta weaponize this shit before we go" I say.

He comes to a halt in the middle of the field before the fence, looking over his shoulder under a cover of too long bangs. I plop my butt on the ground to give me more stability to work on my weak arm. The noisy snarling and growling of the walkers were a fucking awful background to the quiet day.

"Come on man. I thought you said you were ready to hunt. I gave ya a gun and you have your blade"

"Not moving till I get this fitting. I mean it ya little shit." I thrust out my chin at his squared up shoulders, knowing I will win as always, being easily the most stubborn of a pigheaded pair.

"Ya tried last week and it weren't fitting then"

"But it will now, I've been working at it . . . who are ya to tell me about my stump, you know nothing about this boy you're whole"

"Come on man were losing daylight"

My stump finally is about the size it was before I attacked the Governor like a dumbass. I've been wearing my leather cuff over an adapted sock that Skya was able to resize to my arm and I've been able to move it fully without too much pain. Lately I've caught myself using it to lean on and to hold shit down with again. It's just gotten better in the last week, so I should be able to take the weight again. Gotta strengthen this shit up now and be a real man again instead of a crippled pussy.

I line up my cuff to the scorched remains of my arm, still sensitive after a year, still ugly as a shaved dog's ass. There's nothing to do but to try, so I take a deep breath and work my stump into it.

"Fuckin' about time! That's right son ol' Merle is finally back! SHIT YEAH!"

It fits, it fits, it fits, hall-e-fuckin-loolah it fits! All the tolerating Skya and Hershel touching me, giving me the sympathizing looks that makes my skin crawl; giving me massages for the swelling, wrapping and experiencing the damn flashbacks: all worth it now that I can feel more capable again. I know I still have a lot of strengthening and training to do, but I welcome that part. Pain has never bothered me; it's always been my constant companion. I can push it to the back of my mind unless it's a catastrophic injury like my chest wound was.

I strap myself in with my weakened left hand slipping off the straps and having to get a different angle. The stump of my 4th finger is beginning to bend a little better and I can now incorporate it into my altered grip. Still as almost everything is right now, it's painful to grip and I hiss a little as I pull my cuff tight above my elbow so it won't slip. I smile through it, raising an eyebrow at my baby brother's sudden look. He knows better than to express his concern like a pussy.

"Commere bro, I need to borrow you for a minute"

"The fuck?"

"Commere fucktard do I really need to spell it out? Ya illiterate shitsucker. Gotta borrow your hand man"

I pull my bayonet out of its sheath to secure it to my cuff, trying to unscrew the two screws that fasten the bayonet to little Merle. Not surprisingly my weakened grip isn't sufficient to the task.

"Yup. Just like I thought. I need to get stronger before I can grab those well enough, and you have always have had strong hands like mine used to be. Get those nuts off and get the screws through the bayonet then retighten them. Here's a wrench that I keep in my pocket, my finger stumps aren't bending enough yet."

"Merle?"

'Yeah what"

"Ya sure you're ready for this? We can wait a couple of days if you need to."

I pounce like a hunting cat; he forgets that when he's standing and I'm sitting that I'm still dangerous. I rollback onto my elbows and kick his legs out sitting him down hard. I roll up to kneel on him making him focus on me. As I'm gripping his shirt, I feel his heart thunder in his scarred chest.

"Now lissen here and lissen good Dumbass, I've had it with you; this is the last time I'm gonna be so nice and patient. I'm damaged: anyone with eyes can see that. I'm not a useless cripple and I'm good at learning how to do shit just as well, if not better but in my own way. You don't get to doubt me, you don't get to feel sorry for me, and you definitely don't get to cut me any slack. I'm here and I'm still kicking your ass, I can put you on your back anytime I feel the need to and you KNOW what to expect from me."

"Come on boy make up your damn mind, you're worse than two headed snake".

I look down at him enraged and it all comes back. I'm disgusted with myself for allowing myself to flashback. I walk a couple paces away leaving him stunned holding my prosthetic while I move away to shudder, caught in the tidal pull of my own mind. I begin to relive the nearly three months of pain, helplessness, being treated as the invalid that for a while I surely was.

I'm reliving the crushing punch of the bullet forcing its way through my ribs, lung and shoulder blade, miraculously missing my heart, spine and arteries. Again I feel the cool washcloth on my neck, face and the soft tones of Skya's voice recalling me from my dreams of turning into a walker or burning alive. I smell my skin roasting as I try to seal my self-mutilation. I again spiral into the agony of not being able to breathe as my lung collapses, torn from the bullet. I see the Governor smile as I fall into a bleeding, coughing heap a moment before Daryl's bolt pins him to the floor.

Fingers grab my shoulder on my strong side bringing me back to reality.

"Hey man, ya alright, ya on drugs? I'll leave your ass here if ya are. Let you hang out with Rick and I know how much ya like being around him."

"Ya don't get to do that you little fucker. Ya don't get to look at me like I'm crazy. I may need to borrow your hands sometimes and I may stare off into space sometimes; but it just me getting through this bullshit from the Gov and fucking officer Friendly. You of all people don't doubt me ever. Ya know what I've done to stay here.

I pace as I remind him of my headspace.

"I'm just getting back to myself and I need to get the fuck outta here for awhile. I've been cooped up for almost 3 months and I feel like I'm a damn prisoner again. I'm reliving crap again, but ya seen me do that shit before and I got through it. I just need to do normal shit again and get into the woods; like we did all those years ago when I was first back from the damn brig"

"Okay Okay, shit just asking man. Ya were staring off inta space like ya used to when ya were rotting ya brains and tweaking and shit"

"Come on Darlyina, man up and stop asking me girly questions. Just get my cuff put together so the bayonet doesn't shift. I wanna hit the woods before dark"

I watch as my brother adjusts my cuff for me. I watch his scarred but clever hands, taking the nuts off handing them to me to hold for him. Then he looks at my cuff, checks how the straps and screws hold the bayonet firmly. How the straps pull everything close to me so it doesn't slide. He then easily tightens my cuff; handing it back to me so I can check the fit. I roll my right sleeve down to my elbow so the metal doesn't abrade my skin.

Once on, it feels heavy but tolerable. I'm not up to my strength but it feels good to be the most "whole" I can be until I can build my strength and endurance up again.

"Is it right?"

"As right as it can be right now; much better. Damn boy stop worrying. Wipe yer damn lipstick off and let's find a vehicle so we can get hunting already"

We head to the closest thing in the mess of parked ugly cars and trucks, dented and covered in walker goo, looking like they had visited a Halloween drive thru. Daryl hops in leaving me the passenger side as I climb in a little slower and settle for a drive. I stretch and turn my arm getting used to the weight of the cuff and reacclimating myself to the metal on my skin; regarding the different fit due to my weakened muscles. Ain't that just a bitch? A handless arm is so much more tedious to recondition.

I had always planned on adjusting the damn thing but never came up with a design that served as well or the required parts. While I was in Woodbury I often slipped it on and off while I was driving and always when I was sleeping. When I was enjoying some prick tickling company I always removed it; keeping the leather inner cuff on to hide the gory appearance of my scars. I've always planned to fashion an attachment that could function as a pair of pliers, but the design always eluded me. I have to come up with some better way of holding shit because asking others to "borrow" a hand is getting old real damn quick.

It's going to be good to get out to the woods again. I always returned to my roots in nature when I couldn't keep up my mask of strength and I went to escape my brutal home life. I went as a small boy to learn from my grandfather who was a hunter, a taxidermist, a man of nature. For awhile I was a boy of nature who in turn taught my baby brother all that I knew so he would survive.

"Good to get the hell out huh" Daryl stated echoing my thoughts.

"Yeah man you can't begin to know. Frost coming in soon. Gotta be near November; was late summer round about when I was shot. How we doin' on food?"

"Fair, we gotta keep goin' on runs. Gov and his men just disappeared into nothin. Ya used a fishing pole since that happened?" He nods at my bayonet arm

"Nah but I can figure it out with straps"

"Yer shoulder?"

"Come on man stop that shit. I'll try it and if I can't manage I'll do something else. Stop worrying like an old woman. Ya got yer panties in a bunch and I know yer not wearing any. Ya always liked the air. My fee-ral little brudder". I tease him and he cracks a smile like a ray of sunshine finding its way through clouds.

I stare out at the silent world rolling past. The desolation of our world is beginning to be reclaimed with nature. The occasional walkers were bumbling around, reaching out as they heard our car rumble past breaking the silence. They are looking worse for wear, becoming desiccated and with more pieces missing. I snort thinking gloomy thoughts not worthwhile to voice even to myself. The angle of the light and the crisp smell to the air states that the frosting will be just around the corner. My first winter in the prison, living wilder than we did at Woodbury. The solar power and the generators kept us warm and provided rudimentary electricity, enough for warm food and hot showers. Something even I will miss come the coldness of winter.

I stretch my blade arm against the window of the old trunk clicking it on the mirror, shivering slightly in the cool fall air. I have to go on a run and get me a coat that will fit to my cuff. I miss my leather coat that was left in my room in Woodbury that is certainly part of the rubble now. Daryl halts the car and hops out in a non-descript part of the woods. I inhale feeling my lungs expand and the catch of my right lung, feeling the soothing cool fall air calm my itchy damaged lung. Daryl nods drawing me silently after him as if pulled by an invisible string.

Time was when I led him, silent as a ghost, so often frustrated by his noisy little boy antics in the woods. Now I pace behind him looking for clues of game in the woods. I lose myself in tracking, but on guard for the telltale snarls and growls of walkers trailing our living scents. I place my feet carefully remembering PawPaw stating,

" When you are on a trail even if it has not revealed itself to you place your feet carefully; rolling your foot to decrease the impact. You need not hurry but center yourself and reconnect with nature. The world is a web of energy, that of rocks, soil, animals and also us."

My Paw Paw was very smart, uneducated but self taught and well read, a polar opposite to my dumb nearly illiterate waste of a father, brutal and always drunk or tweaking.

Now I watch as the fullness of time comes full circle. I am here with my grown little brother, returning to my roots, reprogramming my damaged body to resonate with nature once again. I notice that I have been on this journey since I was injured: first figuring how to create snares, reestablishing my independence, relearning how to use weapons bit by bit as I healed. Now I'm ready to try a simple hunt, at least tracking and getting used to being outside the prison walls, getting ready to defend myself and those I have a connection with once again.

I hear the telltale crunch of leaves and whirl around stepping to the side as a walker lunges; thrusting my newly reacquired bayonet blade hard up through her jaw, silently cheering myself on.

I stated inside my minds voice 'damn girl I don't know if that's your face or your pussy but its split wide open and uglier than sin".

I ease her down to the crisp fall leaves, taking her entire weight on my weak arm silently grunting with pain as my elbow and chest twinge me. I slow my breathing to a not so noticeable level and catch up to my brother as he holds up his hand. He aims, slowly squeezes his trigger and a bolt hits home as a shriek splits the woods as he pierces the frozen form of hiding rabbit. I smile as I fall into the challenge of the hunt. I hear rustlings as other prey dive for cover alerted by the death cries of the rabbit.

"shit" Daryl curses under his breath as he berates himself for taking a rabbit before getting squirrels or the more silent forms of prey. I walk over to some of the more dense trees, circling them thudding the front of the tree with my cuff to drive the squirrels to the back where my merciless little brother was waiting. I concentrate on my empty innards that are threatening to audibly tie themselves in knots at the thought of stew. "Never fails' I think to myself.

Daryl and I fall into our hunting pattern built from many years of hunting trips, putting food on the table for us and our useless Father. Down come two squirrels to add to the bounty. Dusk approaches, we hope to find deer but the woods of now are somewhat empty of game, most having been torn apart by walkers, only animals that can climb or go into the ground to hide, have survived.

I draw parallels to humans, where can we be safe? Mountains, islands, caves; anything that has a natural defense; a barrier to the nature of walkers, dumb unthinking, unable to reason well enough to climb, swim, or search. Their best success is in a herd but natural walls, and water can defeat the herd. Their ability to be distracted is often our best defense.

I hear a rustle next to the path and a stringy tail becomes visible. I aim my silenced gun and shoot myself a possum to add to the nice variety of wood rat; possum, rabbit and squirrel. Yick.

I feel a nudge in my ribs, control my flinch from the pain of the touch and look up as Daryl smirked and thrummed under his breath, laughing at how I'm catching the exact food that I would often refuse to consume back in the day. His eyes were crinkling in amusement at the irony.

We walk on in the darkening quiet, falling back into our pattern of companionable silence. l cover Daryl as he takes down 3 more damn tree rats. Disgusting lil' bastards; I hate cleaning them worse than eating them. Give me a good Bambi burger any day instead of rats- Templeton and Thumper-makes my stomach churn to consider it. The gloom thickens and the smells of dusk, becomes more prominent. I walk behind Daryl focusing on covering him, watching him as he holds his crossbow ready for the next tree rat.  
"Pay attention boy, it's starting to get dark."  
I turn around and start us heading back to the rust bucket. I consider the increased normalcy I achieved. I'm beginning to plan our escape route for when the Gov comes back to ruin everything. I got my cuff to fit and am wearing it with minimal pain. I can even stab with it although throwing a stump punch still is pretty painful to my arm, my back and my ribs. Still I took down a walker. I'm able to back Daryl up and even killed a nasty opossum of my own. In the relative silence of the woods; the crepuscular time is descending, light receding to dark, the perfect time to hunt for deer. Lately though I've seen few deer. They might well have all been torn apart by those skank ass walkers. The leaves are crisp and I am thankful for my knowledge of walking in the woods silently. Humans are such loud bastards; even now that our survival depends on it, we are still fucking noisy at the wrong damn time.  
As we head down the slope to the truck, a family of walkers awaits us, looking for all the world, like a macabre take on the three little bears. I laugh, putting my silent feet behind me crunching up to them in the fall leaves smelling the counter points of rot. The leaves release their musky fall scent as I crunch them under my booted feet. The Grimm walker family, snarls at me as I approach the truck almost as if they were waiting to hitch a ride.

Papa bear approaches first, he is as big as I am and almost as strongly built, dressed as a sporty businessman, must have taken his family out here to save them but being too pussified and citified to have the skills to get the job done. As many times Daryl called me tank ass, I've never been fat just having a large frame that is designed to keep lots of muscle, even now as weak as I am, I can easily overpower most people.

I step aside as he rushes in grabbing at my open button down shirt. I twist away giving him a new outlook on death with my bayonet hand right through his rotting eye socket as he seeks to taste my marrow. I hear Daryl sigh almost silently, not thinking about what he is saying

"Ya want a hand man?"

I snort and shake my head as Daryl realizes what he said and blushes mumbling

"Shit that just came out ya know what I mean bro"

"Yeah but I'm okay I'll do it"

Mamma bear is next in her flowery dress covering her once lithe form, a not so bored housewife. Papa bear sure had good taste. She snarled showing me her foul teeth. I snorted again and gave her a headache to remember right through the ears.

"Sorry dear not tonight you have a headache, you skanky citified bitch"

She gracefully drops to the forest floor as baby bear approaches, not even considering that I just stabbed his loving momma through the head.  
He was 8 or so just getting lanky, before he died. He was a dirty blonde more dirt than blonde now but curly as a little sheep. I grab him pulling him back to his mother stabbing his soft little skull. A sudden fit of anger hits me hard, pulling me into a red rage as I stab the little skull three more times. I hate this I hate it I hate it.

Why didn't they protect you, why didn't they have the skills, the strength, the knowledge. I kick papa bear again and again as if he still could be hurt. I relive my anger that another little boy was walked away from, hand outstretched and another one was beaten, his curly hair grabbed until it was torn from his head in chunks. I finally sit in the pile of the destroyed walker family, just numb to the core until I feel the ghost of that little hand that I dropped all grown up and calloused; not letting me go, drawing me back to the world heading me back to the truck. Holding my stubby paw until I wake from my numbness; once again Merle, guarded, spirited, and unmovable.

"Ya ready bro we got work ta do"

"Skinning tree rats? Nah ya shot em ya skin em, got my smelly old possum to fix up for dinner"

"Hate to tell ya bro, the possum smells better than you"

"Who are you to talk, lice jump away from you because you make them feel dirty and yer smell makes them sick."

I shove him &amp; he shoves me back.

It hurts but I control the twinges glad to get some normalcy again.


	36. Officer not so Friendly-but trying to be

**_I always come back. Please note this story is rated M due to copious and creative Dixon mouth, a dubious art form in its' own right. _********_AMC and Kirkman owns it all yatta yatta, except for OC and AU moments. Rolling Stones own the line from "sympathy for the devil" which a very fitting song for Merle to listen to. This is written for not for profit but for my enjoyment and that of others (sticks tongue out)._**

**_My life is crazy but my Merle muse still grabs me by the hand and sits me down at the computer, he doesn't type all that well you see. Merle still has a lot to say, but sometimes Skya wrestles him to the ground and pins him so she can get a word in too. I have a lot of mundane work stuff coming up so I might be absent for a couple of weeks to a month. I'm going to continue being behind the scenes canon with a few details changed (umm like Merle didn't die. My OCs are there)._**

******_Pardon the slowness of my story I do like to look into the daily life of the characters, I mean how exactly do you prepare a rat for food. What does it taste like in stew._********_Most importantly a prison echos does it feel like the worst slumber party ever? I'm going to leave you to read thanks for my loyal few who are still reading. I've said it before I'm a very quirky writer many people are not interested in the minutiae of daily life with Merle, Daryl, Skya and Hershel. How much a pain in the butt would they really be or would they become more tolerable with time and whose broken nose snores the worst. Enjoy peeps. Thanks for reading this quirky (not so) little story of mine. any reviews are like gold to me. I sure could use some it's been awhile. ~Lefty~_**

Officer not so Friendly (but trying to be)

Skya:

Today I've been practicing with a recurve bow in the field shooting the dead from about 30 yards. I have found a finger protector to help me pull the bowstring; luckily I can wear it like an overly clunky ring. I have about 15 arrows and I'm practicing half in the target and half in the herd. It sounds like thwack! Mush. Thwack! Mush. Thwack! Mush! The target sounds so much healthier than their pathetic rotten heads. I've been focusing on my targeting for an hour prior to shooting the walkers. I'm an unusual archer in that I've never even tried a compound bow and I've never used a sight or a stabilizing bar. I'm also left-handed, even though I write right handed, I've always for some reason been left handed in every sport that I have ever tried.

My shoulders are getting tired so I finish using my arrows in the rotten heads. My right forearm is stinging from a couple bowstring slaps and the bruises are already rising. I consider the 'deadheads, having missed about 20%, so I'm still a work in progress. I like my bow; it's a takedown recurve, but not what I'm used to. If you have the luxury of building it before going outside for the day it can be helpful; but maybe not the weapon in choice in an emergency survival situation. I'm still going to rely on my bearded hatchets and my pistol. I will have to get cover from Daryl or Glen to retrieve the arrows later. I'm becoming a much better shot. Now I just have to learn to hunt, hopefully this will help me in that skill set.

I settle down to take apart my bow. I watch the fields as I prepare to unstring, jamming my stringer onto the ends pulling it into shape with my feet to unnock the string for storage. I finish taking my bow down and lose myself in watching my kids and Hershel garden together.

Three heads are bent over the plants in the field, fingers digging through the fertile soil, showing the parts of the plant, the roots, the stems, and bulbs budding off of the parent plant. I can almost hear them; one teaching the others, the little ones absorbing the knowledge of the older man; much as their clothing absorbs the dirt in the field. Mother Nature is their new curriculum as well as their classroom in the University of Survival Skills.

I've been hovering on the outskirts of the group since Merle was well enough not to be my patient anymore. This is a big change and I'm struggling to find my place here as more than Merle's caregiver or the mother of Liam and Mya. Since I've somewhat joined this group I spent most of my time with Merle trying to help him heal. My kids and I are finally now having the opportunity to settle into life in the prison. However, I feel that our days here are numbered and there is a sense of urgency to the depth of my being. I count every breath as a gift, every day that my children and I get to spend together as a family; is one additional day that my husband, my friends and my in-laws didn't get to have. I am determined that we will learn our lessons well; there are no other options, if we don't live in every moment we might hesitate at the wrong time and will then and forever number among the dead. I will not let that happen to my children; nor to myself.

My kids are learning from Hershel what edible plants look like. I see him now in the garden showing them how to harvest the pumpkins and squash. I smile gently as I remember in Ohio that we used to throw the jack o lanterns into my garden. We would get a mix of big and little. Always a fun surprise for October to see what variety would grow. I can smell the winter in the air as strongly as I recognize the shift of the light. I remember how I as a city girl transplanted into the lakeside vineyards; I planted a dozen strawberry plants. I naively marveled how quickly they took over a small field and the next year I harvested 10 gallons of strawberries. I traded them for wine and had strawberry slushies for a year. My whole family will never look at another strawberry without laughing.

I hear the click of boots somewhere and look around for the source. Being deaf in my left ear I can't echolocate worth a damn and have to be extra vigilant to prevent others from surprising me. I see Rick approaching as I watch Hershel teaching my kids. Rick oddly enough is looking proud but scruffy with his wild hair and growing beard, his clear blue eyes squinting in the late November sun, his breath smoking from his mouth like that of a miniature steam engine.

"Hey Skya"

"Rick what's up?"

"You did great with Daryl's brother"

"It was a pleasure to help them. Nice to use my medical skills on someone who really needed it."

"You got along with him well. How did you do it?"

He looks at me sideways, sizing me up, weighing my strengths and vulnerabilities. A crazy judge determining if he wants to invite me to his mad hatter blood soaked tea party. Sigh I miss my mint tea in the morning. I close my eyes as the scent memory filters teasingly through my brain. I subconsciously call the memory an evil tease of a crack whore. I am not a morning person and it takes a while for me to be civil, the tea helped me to contain my filterless personality and adopt a cloak of civility before going to work. It's a pleasant memory from another life so obsolete in the here and now; still the routine of comfort is so deeply missed.

Rick looks at me questioningly with a half smile plastered on to his face; the crazy judge prodding his newly found subject. He is not yet sure if he has found a diamond in the rough or a psychotic mother grizzly, cold and calculating until she snaps in a red rage.

Oh yeah I guess he wants an answer.

"I happen to be fluent in profanity and sarcasm, with a side helping of reading between the lines &amp; not rising to Merlish insults cleverly designed to push people away". I rattle away not being able to help the sarcasm, and then I smile sweetly and follow it up.

"Not a problem if you have a thick skin. If you give him his space and the benefit of the doubt he can be surprisingly good company".

Rick snorts and shakes his head clearing the cobwebs of confusion left by my bullshit "You seem to actually like him even though he is an asshole."

"Really Rick? Aren't we all assholes now? No-one is squeaky clean anymore; besides I was married to an asshole for 12 years. He never hit me but we went through some tough times due to his mental illness, drug use and PTSD. Still he was a wonderful father even if he was a shitty husband sometimes. I just taught myself how to remain happy, I stopped depending on him a long time ago." I sigh watching the ex sheriff fiddling with the hem of his shirt staring hard at his boots considering what to say. He smiles with a touch of warmth nodding like a pigeon.

"I like how you keep him inline."

"Uh Rick I think you are way off base. No one keeps Merle in line except Merle. I think he is keeping to himself and choosing to not be around people that refuse to give him a chance. I hope people understand how he put himself on the line and nearly died."

"For his brother"

"Yes of course for his brother. But you all benefitted from it and so did your kids. How about a little forgiveness and move on to face the real enemy. Who is still out there planning who knows what? But you already know all that crap. Anyway what do you want Rick".

"Nothing"

"I don't believe you"

"Well Skya. That's your right; I just wanted to talk to you a little. I just wanted to say you're an asset. Daryl is a good friend of mine and I appreciate what you have done to help him and his brother, even if you DON'T believe me it still needed to be said. I'm glad you're here and I hope you will stay. I have some questions for you."

He turns back to me searching my face for answers to questions he can't express or maybe can't acknowledge even to himself. He mumbles to himself "its okay you can ask her"

"Yes and . . .?"

"How many walkers did you kill" he drawls his accent so much softer than Merles thicker mountain accent.

"More than I can count. I went in a van with my kids in the back when they were sleeping. That's how we would go on runs. Just at dawn. I put walkers down only if I really needed to. I camouflaged myself in walker funk and kept a dead stinker in the driver's seat when I was "shopping"

"How many people".

"Just one"

"Why"

"He was trying to steal my van with my kids asleep in back. I caved the base of his skull in with my hatchet. I would kill again to save my kids"

"You will have to" Rick finally nodded with an honest smile as he watched Hershel and the kids working in the garden, hoeing and digging up the harvest.

"I know"

"You can join our group if you want".

I can't explain my reluctance. I've been here for almost 3 months without any thought of permanently joining after hearing about his sacrifice of Merle and Michonne. About how he admitted that he was no longer a fit leader and he would take suggestions. He still seems very unstable and I don't know if I can trust him with our lives, especially that of my kids. Still I would put myself on the line for his kids as well as the other kids here some orphaned, some not.

"Does this have to be a formal thing? Can't we just be here side by side learning to trust one another day by day?"

Rick smirked. His greasy curly hair falling into his eyes.

" Is there a reason you don't want to join. I thought you get along well with everyone even our resident dumb as shit redneck" Rick chuckling to himself

I turn to him and take a step inside his personal space so he will take me seriously and I smile as sweetly as I can. –only Merle and my dead husband would know that spells potential disaster- I take his shirt in my hands and fix a grime soaked button, smelling his sour odor mixed with the aura of craziness that I remember from my husband's own struggles.

"You're a southern boy don't you know that 'stupid is as stupid does'. You sure pulled a doozy when you sacrificed them to a known psychopath. How would you feel if the tables were turned? I'm sure you wouldn't be so accepting. I want to trust you, but in this world that is at a premium. And let's not forget under what conditions I met you".

My anger is flaring up and I begin pacing as I relive the fear of my long year of isolation and when I thought it was over; the crazy ex sheriff throws me and my children into a cell for the simple reason that we were strangers.

"Daryl had found me and the kiddos at an abandoned school and offered us sanctuary 3 days before Daryl brought Merle back with his life hanging in the balance, bleeding to death. You put us in a cage until you needed my skills and my type O- blood. You isolated me and the kids with Merle who you think is a vicious dickhead and never checked on us personally again. I know you have a lot of loss and misery too. But don't forget we did not exactly have a happy beginning. I don't mind so much about me and hopefully you only did that to keep your own children safe, but don't forget it was your decision that put my kids in a cage for 3 days".

I notice he has a nice smile and must have been handsome back in the day when one cared about things like that. He isn't too much bigger than me. But I've always been a man sized woman. Slightly bigger than average and always way stronger than average. But then I always had active work to keep me fit Too bad we no longer really care about our appearance.

Rick and I both become silent considering the garden; He turns and looks me in the eye smiling slightly

"You know we have to do things we don't like to survive right? I didn't WANT to put your family in a cage. I did that to make sure my children and our entire family here survived. These are all good people and I have to protect them. I HAVE to protect them. Dont you understand that? I think you and your children are good people too and you are survivors. That is why you can have a place here if you want it"

"I'm still trying to figure out your angle Rick. I'm still learning to trust you. I want to like you and take you up on your offer but let's be direct here. I don't like what you did to Merle offering him up as sacrifice along with Michonne. The others must really have a great connection to you because I still don't get how they can shrug it off and let bygones be".

"We trust each other and we have been through a lot. I stood by them and now they are standing by me. I know I was wrong and I'm trying to be a better leader now"

"Merle has a hole through the chest because of your decision. It's amazing he even survived much less lived to recover. You weren't there to watch him work through his pain and readjust to the damage in his hand. You didn't sit up with him at night along with Daryl while he wore himself out from coughing as his lung healed. He is still working through it and he will have to for a long time to come. We came damn close to losing him to infection a couple of times. If Dr. S bless his spirit didn't bring all those medical supplies from Woodbury including the antibiotics that saved him; you would be explaining to his brother why you thought Merle should be sacrificed".

Rick looks at me raises an eyebrow like he wants to respond but instead he sighs, nods and walks away. I'm not sure if I won or lost but I felt like he was trying to manipulate me and failed because I wouldn't badmouth Merle. Maybe he truly is impressed with me being able to get along with Cranky pants McNaughty.

Officer not so friendly wants something and isn't so subtle. I just haven't worked out what. I just can't trust him not by a long shot. Plus he is crazier than a shithouse rat. I've been around crazy before and it's never pretty; in this world it's lethal to those in the blast zone when the crazy bomb blows its' top.

My kids come running up covered in healthy dirt. "Mom! Hey Mom! Look what we found; wild raspberries just like home! Liam throws himself at me knocking me hard on my tailbone, Mya trailing him holding Hershel's hand.

I crawl to my feet, laughing hugging my kids reveling in their smells of earth, and need-to-be-washed-kid, rubbing myself on my butt, having landed surprisingly hard.

"Liam you're getting way too big for that, you should warn me first. Honey I'm glad that you like learning from Hershel. Mya, I think you look like a walking mudpie".

"Your kids learn fast for city kids. I'm teaching them to look for good soil and how to plant things with others, like how to keep certain bugs away from your tomatoes by planting protective plants nearby".

Hershel smiles looking for all of the world like a limping Santa Claus after going on a diet.

"There may not be much time and you may have to find plants to eat. Your medical skills are wonderful but they won't feed you. Then only the people who can grow food or forage food will make it. Be sure the Dixons teach you how to hunt and fish. We have a duty to these kids, to teach them how to survive and also teach the city folk the basics of farming and living wild."

"Skya you know I care for you and I feel the need to say some things that have been percolating in my mind. Merle Dixon is a good man, but no one sees it not even himself with the exception of his brother and me. Merle won't open up and tell you what he thinks. He is too damaged from far too young an age. I know whereof I speak because I'm like him in more than the obvious limb deficiency. I was abused by my father and pushed the pain away with alcohol and allowed me to lie to myself with the truth was staring me straight in the face but I worked hard to become that numb and I locked up my feelings well and good"

"I don't know if Merle can give you what you deserve or what you would want. He deserves a chance but don't be surprised if he doesn't know how to reciprocate. He likes you more than he gives himself credit for. Don't give up on him too soon. He is still telling himself that he is not different than before his injury. He will need a good friend in addition to his brother".

"I know you have left him to his own devices for the last week, but don't back away too much. I've seen him watching you. He still needs you but won't admit it; he still hurts badly but won't even admit that to himself. When he figures all of this out he is going to need a good friend to be there in the way he needs".

Merle

We drive back in the piece of crap stink mobile after my first hunting trip after my injury; and coincidently the first day I was able to tolerate lil' Merle on my aching swollen stump. I was able to stab with it and straighten it partially but it's still aching and throbbing like a pounding drum of hell. We have been sorta successful with multiple species of forest rodent. I got a possum and Daryl picked off a ropeful of squirrels and even a rabbit. Enough that there is plenty for a stew; a vile, misbegotten stew but I've eaten worse in bed and out. I feel the bumps of the potholes vibrating through my healing ribs and the tight scars on my back. I softly grunt to myself, trying to focus on the scenery as the leaves flutter in the November wind, watching walkers staggering after us. I lean out of the window banging on the side of the old dented truck with my metal covered stump.

"Come on Dickweed, ya got it in ya to follow ol Merle home. Ya need to take off yer high heels and grow a pair son. Merle is still here ya son of pig fucker and yer a rotting fly bitten piece a stinking worthless dogjizz."

Daryl looks at me out of the corner of his tired eyes laughing a little of the stream of creative insults "Come on man yer being stupid wha tha hell, dumbass fuckwad"

I lean out of the truck angling again to get my left hand awkwardly out of the window to take a shot at the trailing walkers. Daryl sees me and swerves to throw me off of my shot. "

"Come on idiot save it for the fence" Daryl snorts, "we gotta get back and dress this shit".

"What the fuck ever" I settle down in my seat. Thinking about how I'm going to dress my Possum; disgusting little rat.

I look through the glove box and find some music, finding some Rolling Stones cueing up "sympathy for the Devil" and close my eyes, wincing slightly with the bumps reverberating through my ribs.

"Please let me introduce myself ; I'm a man of wealth and taste . . ." (music blares)

I will have to use those stupid clamps to hold the rat down as I prepare it. I'm damn sure that I'm sick of "borrowing" a hand because mine are fucking damaged. I've gotta learn how to do this since I ain't gonna sprout extra fingers anytime soon. I close my eyes guiding myself through the process and thinking of how I have to do it differently not realizing that I'm drifting off to sleep. Next thing I know I wake up while Daryl drives up to the prison; with Carl- I swear the little shit is getting taller everyday- opening the damn noisy gate with an almighty screech of metal and nodding us through.


	37. Playing Hooky from Prison

** I feel like I say this each time; sorry for taking so long in posting. I have to wait until the Muse strikes me as just right. One of my wonderful reviewers pointed out that Skya needs to find something else to do and make new relationships unrelated to Merle which is excellent insight. Very true. This fic started out because I was unsatisfied with how the writers ended him. Merle if authentic (and Merle is a straight up kind of guy) would not have done what Rick had said to do; not in the way he did it. Michonne would have never let him go it alone she would have followed in time to save him; especially being that it takes time to herd walkers, she and Daryl would have gotten there in time. Also the Governor was still getting used to his lack of depth perception due to his missing right eye (his dominant visual side); would have not been as accurate to hit him mid sternum. This little (yeah right) fic is now becoming an ensemble fic. It will be another few chapters to finish the hiatus time between season 3 &amp; 4 then we will go behind the scenes before veering off into AU.**

**Anyway I want to thank my wonderful reviewer Seerwood who also has a pretty wonderful story. Definitely read it. Please Please review if you read it really helps me**

Hooky from Prison

Michonne

9 hours ago just after breakfast

I've been watching her. Skya. I watch her practicing with her bow as she shoots arrow after arrow into her targets. Her hair is long braided and rolled up into a bun. She wears a long-sleeved shirt and pants with plenty of pockets. Smart. I've seen too many people get caught by their hair or by too bulky clothing when facing the dead. Her stance is a little off. She sometimes pulls the bow only with the string instead of pulling the string and pushing the bow hand apart. She also needs to work on her arm strength. I notice that she hyper extends her wrist and rotates her elbow. I wince as she gets stung by the bowstring yet again. I watch her easy careless stride as she goes to pull her spent arrows. No tension in her body. I don't get why she don't spend some time with Daryl, but here she is trying to learn on her own.

Dumb. Stubborn. Too damn proud. Maybe a liability or maybe not. Still she's the one that tolerated Merle and his crazy brand of bullshit for the last couple of months. I can't imagine how she chose to save his worthless ass instead of ringing his damn fool neck. I've never seen someone in such a hurry to trip himself up; all the while trying to get you to accept that he believes that he is doing the wrong thing for the right reasons. It's funny how he succeeded in spite of nearly killing his own idiot self.

I watch how she doesn't know what to do with herself now that her patient is healed. Thanks to her, he will have his extra chance at survival and use it well. . . or not, depending if the ignorant fool can learn. At least she did her work well, very well and now the rest is up to him.

She is finished collecting her arrows as the wind comes up and blows a piece of her hair out of her braid. She pushes it back smiling, squinting slightly in the sun. She is a lucky one; her little ones are still alive; I hate her a little bit for that. How did she do it I wonder? She doesn't seem to be much of a fighter or a survivalist. She isn't much for mixing with others, so she didn't go the route of the Governor- lying through his teeth saying anything to manipulate others to complete his dirty work- telling them that is gotta be done for the good of the community. Bullshit. She didn't sleep with the alpha male for protection like Andrea used to, or she would have been spending more time with Rick or Daryl. She somehow figured it out on her own and was able to protect her kids by herself. How could she succeed when I lost my son? No! I won't let myself go there! Not Yet!

She must be extra smart or good at disappearing. I can respect that. It's time she finds something worth doing other than wiping butts and sewing torn flesh. I have a feeling she will be glad to do something else of value. I turn away from the shade of the wall that hid me, rolling my shoulders working the kinks out of my neck. What I wouldn't give for some strong sexy hands and a hot bath. If wishes were airplanes this would be a damn airport.

I silently smirk to myself and snort. Yes she might do just fine. Loyal, smart, quick learner can be quiet when she needs to and motivated to learn the right skills. I have some thinking to do. I need someone that is quiet and can get in and out, use her brain. Hershel has asked me to stock up on Meds and take her with me because she knows how to find things in a nursing home. He tells me that she used to work in one. She can aim a bow and use a gun. I saw her use one to protect her kids when Daryl and I found her in the abandoned school. My feet take me in the direction of Hershel's cell. Time to get a list of things and talk to him about what nursing home to pick. I'm not driving for more than an hour. Not with Daryl and Merle going off hunting today too.

I listen to the clanking of the people tidying up from the meal and beginning the unending job of cleaning of walker infested gore from clothing. It's amazing the things that we used to take for granted highlighted by the routine filthiness of life without convenience (or electricity). Damn that stupid virus . . . whoever let that little bug out . . . Damn them into eternal hell. The surviving Woodbury folks nod and smile at me still unsure of their function here. I smirk at them, but realize we can't all be the survivor type.

Still that Murderous psycho is out there somewhere. I know his type. He will be back. People like him have no limits in what they will do. Yes he's coming back and we don't know how or when but we have to be ready. We have to have plentiful supplies both defense, medical and foodstuff. He isn't human anymore, the governor. He can't control it. The rage the loss; it uncovered something that was missing and caged in his soul. Losing everything set it free, and the bitter numbness takes over and makes him capable of the worst things imaginable and some unimaginable. I rub my neck as I'm thinking; the stiffness getting worse with my cheerful thoughts and I shift my too hot dredlocks off my back for a moment. How did the numbness lead him into atrocity while it just left me . . .numb. I lost everything too but I didn't lose my ability to stop myself. That man is as vacant inside as a walker; the only difference is he can still think.

Time to find Hershel.

I walk down the hall noting the cold in the air, it's just about winter. I still miss Andrea. I can see her, the sunlight on her face, making her beautiful green eyes shine, the breeze making her hair dance around her shoulders. Shivering in the cold as we huddled together, hearing the clank of my ugly pets, the inhuman assholes that killed my boy. NO! Never again I won't think. I won't feel. I won't burn with rage. I won't lose control. Much better to be ice than fire. What was I thinking about? Oh yeah the winter and Andrea. How can someone so smart have such crappy taste in men that she was willing to believe anything that psycho said? She should have never gone back-like he would have listened to anything she said-he was lying the whole time-I saw it the moment I met him. I could even see it in Merle's eyes that he knew; even if he would never admit it.

Damn I doubt Skya and I'm rambling worse than those walkers.

I listen to the myriad sounds of people. I hear the baby and chuckle to myself sadly. I hear the soft voices of the Woodbury women pouring water for the wash. Cleaning the plates and breakfast supplies. Laughing softly together. I wave at the pack of them watching how they appear as a group of chickens clucking pleasantly as they work. Smiling and nodding completing the image as I quietly walk by still in search of the crippled old vet. I hear his creaky old man laugh from down the hall as I pick my pace up and continue to his cell.

Hershel

I've asked Michonne to take Skya on a run for medications and supplies. We could use some antibiotics, dressings, medications for common conditions, hygiene supplies and as many oxygen tanks as is possible. I watch as Michonne comes charging down the hall like a ninja on a mission. Her dreds swaying side to side as she walks, her sword scabbard bumping on her back and hip. Her dark skin shimmering with a light sheen of sweat glinting in the cool morning light as she walks briskly down the hallway to my cell.

"What do you think Michonne will you take her? She knows her way around in a nursing home better than any of us including me." I say as I look at her trying to read her face for once. I stop sorting long enough to dig up a list of needed medications and supplies.

"Taking care of Merle and the flu victims have used up most of our medical supplies and all of them are much more susceptible to pneumonia and other respiratory conditions". I had to break ice in my sink today so I know that winter is coming, in fact it's almost here. So it's time to prepare for the inevitable; another bout of the flu come winter and spring.

Michonne quirks an eyebrow at me and smirks; "I hope her ignorant dumbassed self doesn't get me killed. She is stubborn, not much of a fighter but she is tolerable with a bow, a pistol and a hatchet. She is smart enough to have a reinforced jacket with duct tape like Milton used to if you can believe that. So she can use her brain. But I don't know if she's going to freeze when she sees a walker up close" She shakes her elegant head and straightens her shoulders looking me in the eye.

"Spill it Hershel why are you really doing this. It's a huge risk for both of us. It better be for the right reason. And you owe it to both of us to be straight with me now" She tilts her head while giving me the eye; she shrugs eliciting pops from her neck and back.

I scratch my beard for a moment chuckling a little before adding "I think that she will be much more skilled at getting into the nurses' cart and raiding the oxygen room than any of us and you need her for that. She moves more quickly by far than I do. Of course that can be said about anyone here maybe even the baby. I also realize that the weather is approaching and thanks to Merle and the flu victims we are low on antibiotics, hypertension medications, sterile dressings, pain medications, saline solution, IV bags, tape, linens, wetting pads, oxygen tanks, nasal cannulas, tubing. So no this not a whim or training for Skya, this is a medical need.

I gently handed her my list. "Please".

Michonne sighed "Okay Hershel. I get it. I'll take her but I stiIl think you have an agenda. I'll give you a break this time but I expect you to be straight with me from here on out. You need supplies but I think this could wait until Daryl and Merle get back from their trip."

I have the grace to look embarrassed. The truth is Michonne has it right. I want her to take Skya when she could take someone more experienced. She needs to get some experience on runs and bond with some others of the group. She doesn't seem to be on terms with anyone but Merle and Daryl. "I told you my thoughts on this and beyond that I plead the fifth"

Michonne narrows her eyes suspiciously reading me astutely

"Hmm Hershel better continue with being a vet. You're crap at being an attorney. Take it from one who knows way too many and don't even ask because that is all I will say on this".

She regards me with an overdone rictus smile; more unnatural than her usual unreadable expression. She fiddles with the edge of her vest as she considers me, looking out of the corner of her eye from beneath her veiled lids.

"So. I'm going to get ready; grab the inexperienced danger magnet. I'm sure she will let you know all the fun details later"

She stalks off as suddenly as she arrived disturbing a layer of dust motes that tail her as intently as a herd of walkers. I consider my risky suggestion and head out slowly to help with the harvest in the fields. All too soon out harvest will be in and it will be time to start composting. Come spring this year we will have a healthy field to garden if any of us survive to plant crops that is. If worries were horses we would be the Kentucky derby. I grab my overshirt and swing it around my shoulders.

As I hike out to the field I watch Daryl pacing around Merle on their way to the trucks gesturing wildly as is his nature when dealing with his frustrating brother. Merle apparently is sitting in the field in a stubborn protest like a 4 year old, looks like he's is fixing something in his lap. My guess is that he is trying to stubborn his way into wearing his bayonet.

Sometimes strong personalities are forceful in distinctly wrong ways, especially among siblings. I notice it especially with friction inciting fire in our rather feral set of brothers. I grin to myself happy to see my recently very ill patient being able to overdo it. I hope Skya finds some biofreeze to massage his painful joints in the morning, I suspect he will be sore. I chuckle to myself once again as I slowly limp out under the sun imaging his bad temper with his refusal to verbalize his soreness. I watch the two brothers shoving the prosthetic onto his arm with the winces visible across the field.

Skya

Michonne finds me after I take my bow back down and clean my sweaty stinky self and after I had a little time to start my kiddos on the day's lessons. I've spread out books and notebooks for them. Liam is currently reading the tales of Narnia and will be doing a book report on the different themes in the stories. Mya is concentrating on her math story problems with me using the Georgia map for distances and travel time. Merle was studying this one earlier today. Oddly enough he has circled the areas north of here very near where I started out in my sister-in-law's house. I sigh as I think of Sarah and how of all John's family I loved her best.

I consider as I have the past weeks and months, what the new kid curriculum should be. Obviously survival, reading, most definitely math and science as that relates to survival skills. Anatomy and physiology because all of us needs to have basic first aid and be able to help without hesitating. We need to know hand to hand combat and weaponry, but we also need to know the skills of our past world. One day we will figure out how to end the walkers en masse. It will be science that figures out how. We then will have the daunting task of putting the world back onto its feet, but of necessity the feet will be scarred and in a different shape than before.

We need to find a way to produce food and protect the good people while being able to stand up to the psychopaths so this will not become our extinction event. How long it will be? Who knows? The kids are as deep into their thoughts as am I, focused on their learning tasks. When Merle gets back I'm going to insist that he begins my instruction in weaponry and tracking tomorrow as he agreed to while he was recuperating. We are sitting in the common area outside the cell I've set aside near mine as our "study". I watch as Beth rocks the baby and several of the parents and surviving children come to sit with us while they are instructing their own children reminiscent of Carol's study groups.

I mean to speak to Hershel as our most educated "elder" regarding setting up some type of cooperative learning for both adults and children. We need to trade skill sets to survive. I could teach basic anatomy and first aid, how to stitch a simple wound or fracture. Hershel can teach how to garden simple foodstuffs and how to care for and raise food animals. Michonne could teach hand to hand combat and how to blend (as can I). Merle and Daryl can show how to set up snares and how to skin game. Humm. Definitely best coming from Hershel.

I watch my kids; my son's dark blond hair and the bright sunny hair of my daughter. I need to make them duct tape reinforced jackets again and find her a hat so her hair won't stand out so much. Fortunately my hair is deep red and my son's hair is wild field mouse brown. We actually blend in well but not so for Mya. I watch as the people walk up and down the halls each on their busy little errand, most getting far too comfortable in the relative luxury of the prison and the false security of safety behind the thick walls. If you're stubborn enough or psycho enough you can find a sneaky or tactical way around these walls.

I smile as several of the Woodbury mothers sit down with their kids. "Skya do you need me to watch them for you while you help Hershel"

I think that this one was one of the teachers from Woodbury who can actually be patient enough to teach my kiddos. I think her name Willa Mcfeeley; a more inappropriate teacher's name never existed. I call her Mrs. Mac, to stop the immature giggles from the peanut gallery.

"Mrs. Mac that would be lovely. I've been working with Liam on his book report and with Mya and her number problems; I think Hershel did mention something and that he would send someone to find me. Would that be you?"

She gently smiles her straight bob falling into her eyes, she licks her lips shyly.

"Is it okay if I go over some sentence structure with Mya, I noticed that she at times has some difficulty with writing and putting her thoughts on paper? Hershel asked me to come in from the field and change places with you."

I regard her with a slight frown not sure what Hershel wants from me, unused to him being so enigmatic. I run my hands through my hair retying my bun.

"Kiddos. It sounds like Hershel has a project for Mommy; I might be away for a few hours. I want you to listen to Mrs. Mac she will be your teacher. Am I clear? You will listen to her and not wander off. Let her know if you need a bathroom visit and wait until the group goes. There will absolutely no wandering the prison without adults just like when you are with mommy. You will do what she asks the first time and no back talking. Any questions?"

I hate being so bossy but in this dangerous world absolute discipline with my kiddos have kept them safe and alive more than once. They nod their blond heads in unison and I gather them in murmuring how much I love them. How my sun and moon rises and sets with them. I learned long ago to never let a loved one out of your sight without telling them how special they are.

Road Trip

I found out that Michonne and I have been selected by Hershel to go on a run for medications in a local nursing home. I find my pistol, knife, and my beloved hatchet before I join Michonne in a beat up suv. I'm wearing my cargo pants and I have a little collection of items that can make fascinators for distracting the walkers. I also have small survival items, flashlight, pop rocks, matches etcetera.

She purses her lips in a halfhearted smile. "Well trouble you ready for this?"

I wink at her as I turn to hear her better being that she is sitting on my deaf left side; thank the gods that I lip read as well as I do.

"So who is Thelma and who is Louise? And why do you assume I'm trouble. I think we are both kinda chaotic."

She stops and stares at me for a moment "Did you not observe that neither of them happens to have dreds and beautiful skin like mine. Do not assume that we are in a fem buddy movie. I am not your buddy and we are not on a road trip for an adventure in feminism. The only reason why I agreed to this ill planned adventure is I respect Hershel and think it's time for you to do something other than being Merle's nurse."

I look down and pick at a piece of my duct tape jacket considering what to say to the ninja's intense expression and growled comments. "I just want you to not assume that you think you know me. You've barely spoken to me. I see you watching everyone and thinking that you understand why we act the way we do. Don't presume that you know me Michonne because you don't - any more than I would assume that I understand you"

Michonne shrugs and smirks gently shaking her head, dreds dusting the tops of her shoulders "I just want to know that you got my back. That this ain't no game. I don't have time for stupid, inexperienced bullshit. I don't gotta like that Hershel put us together on a run. You better not get me killed. So don't give me your high and mighty crap"

I look back up and behind me as the prison shrinks and disappears in the gently sloping hills. I've stopped picking at my jacket to glare at her out of the corner of my eye.

"Okay Michonne I get it. You need me to take this seriously. I do. Any time away from my kids; I take incredibly seriously. I always have"

I settle down to watch out the windows; a movie of scenery rushing by, a series of free ranging walkers shambling pathetically after us. "Do you think anything is in there? Like their trapped and locked in their bodies but have no ability to control anything but somehow they are still in there?"

She frowns at me and shrugs shaking her head balefully, glancing at me below lower lids as she drove on. "And so speaks the inexperienced soft bleeding heart; I don't think anything about them except that they are rotting corpses trying to bite my ass. If you want to survive this you should do the same"

I return to watching out my window tapping, drumming my fingers on both knees simultaneously. I watch how early the seasons seem to me being that I'm used to the Ohio seasons. It looks like October but the angle of the light says to me December. At home the snow would have started, the frost would be crunching under my feet in the morning and the walkers would have trouble moving as their muscles froze solid and would accelerate the rotting process. I wonder how the survivors were keeping warm. I remembered the winter before getting stranded here -11 degrees.

The snow rolling across the yard on its own; making nature's snowballs with just the wind. I remembered how the kiddos and I would roll down the hill in our yard giggling. Nights that I would curl up with them one by one before bed. How Mya and I would rub noses before I kissed her goodnight. How Liam and I would talk about his interest in science and how he wanted to be an engineer; how now all that was gone and the early winter sky shone down on the little out of the way nursing home that would be my first raid with this new group. Now I hoped to increase my worth in the group's eyes with my ability to raid the medication cart and the oxygen room.

Michonne stops the car just up the road where we can observe the land around the tiny nursing home tucked away at the end of the narrow country road, hidden by the statuesque ancient trees that probably watched over this land when a plantation stood here.

"Okay" she turned to look at me "we have a way of doing things and you need to follow my lead. I know you've done everything on your own. But we can't afford any mistakes. We scope out the whole place checking out the door closest to the med room and the least activity. Plus we need to find if there is anything alive in there. We're gonna wait here for an hour or to see if there is anything; then we go close and walk around. No shooting. No noise. No talking, hand signals only unless there is no alternative. We play it smart. You fill up this bag with the meds and supplies that Hershel needs. We back the car up and we fill the rest".

Michonne grabs my wrist squeezes a little. "Skya you with me on this?"

I nod smiling grimly. She nods back at me as I check my hatchet, and my firearm.

We sit there in silence. I roll down the window and listen to the sounds around the seemingly quiet little place. I hear birds chattering and woodpeckers hammering, nothing to suggest the wildlife hiding from a threat. I smell the pine trees and hear the wind murmuring in the huge trees. Michonne after a while edges the car steadily forward parking in the back of the building. She puts her finger to her mouth to remind me to remain silent. I need no reminders. A year's worth of instincts for stealthiness have kicked in and again I go into sneaky mode. I know that survival depends on my ability to disappear and outthink my human opponents and remain invisible to the not so dearly departed stinking walking corpses.


	38. Cat Toys for Corpses

**This is unheard of for me publishing two chapters at once TRIGGER ALERT. They will be raiding a nursing home and putting many of the turned patients out of their misery. My feeling is that I would want someone to give me mercy if I ended up a brainless cannibalistic monster. There is definitely dark humor and plenty of cussing. Skya is like that though. Potty mouth most of the time. other notes. If an o2 tank is dropped it can become a rocket, we have to handle them carefully. They are heavy and have to be turned with a lever with just the right seal otherwise it will squeal until your ears hurt. If you stack them in a wheel chair you may flip the whole thing over because they can be tippy. Also disclaimer modern nurses carts are designed a lot better than these and Nurses have to be very vigilant about them, this is much easier than it would actually be for fiction sake. This nursing home was privately owned and operated and the locks were not run by electricity. Otherwise the girls would have been SOL**

Cat toys for Corpses

Mountain Winds a tiny nursing home an hour north of the prison

Michonne.

We get out of the car after I pull around and back it up precariously to the exit. I gesture at Skya to remind her to be silent. She rolls her eyes at me and nods. She had described to me while we were waiting and watching that many nursing homes were set up in a "T" pattern with nurses' stations on both ends and the main nurses' station in the middle with med room to supply all of the nurses' carts. She stated that the hard thing might be finding the lever to pop the cart open.

I loosen my sword in my scabbard taking point gesturing with my free hand for her to remain behind. I sidle up to the building tapping on the window gently with my hand looking at Skya's face while listening. I watch her eyes narrow in concentration and she shakes her head as she hears nothing and gestures with her hand asking if I was ready to continue. She gathers some rocks putting them in her pockets. I raise my eyebrow questioning her and she motions with her hand as though throwing. Ah to use as distraction! I shrug and nod. Skya smiles gesturing with her chin that we should move forward again.

True to her word there are indeed two hallways with large rooms at each end which seem to be dining areas. We silently look in the window at the left side of the building with its dining lounge and I see that the door had been closed and barred from the hallway. Several corpses are bumbling around shambling aimlessly; while others are crawling away from upended wheelchairs their useless legs tailing behind. Skya scratches on the glass to draw them away from the hall side of the room she pulls a strip of cloth from her pocket tying the rock around one end and the other on the upper doorstop which causes it to hang like a pendulum. Then she sets it in motion first tapping the window with it to attract their attention. Great. A cat toy for the geriatric dead. I tap her on the shoulder after she is finished setting up her little distraction. We listen for any activity near the center of the building then we head to the right side of the building scoping out activity in the patients' rooms. I let Skya silently slide by me and continue up to the other lounge setting up a similar distraction, she nudges me on her way past as I cover with my katana and gun.

At the far end of the building closer to the car, she finds a door with a code lock and she tries several variation of codes, thankfully not run on electric but one the old fashioned button locks. I see her press several sequences huffing under her breath with frustration. Click. Open sesame. She flourishes the door open for me as I cover her. I slide my blade free and use the point to raise her firearm to a more useful position shaking my head and mumbling "dumbass" under my breath. She is indeed but doesn't seem as green as I would have predicted.

Skya stops in the hallway considering the inside as our eyes adjust to the midmorning light filtering through the dancing dust motes. It smells like an unearthed tomb in here. I can see corpses jumbled in our path, partially eaten immobile but not fully dead. I slip the point of my blade into their skulls as their decaying heads allow the intrusion finally quieting their aimlessly working jaws and wind milling arms. The hallways littered with papers, clothing and supplies as the loved ones tried to extract the patients or the workers tried to escape before disaster struck. I see wheelchairs tipped over some with an inhabitant some without. Gore painted the walls in a Van Gogh art show before dribbling into a trail down the hall, a siren call of carrion. I hear shifting movement and growls echoing down the hallway but thankfully . . .

"Gnarly" she says sotto voce, as I tap her on the shoulder putting my finger to my mouth as to say silence you dumb bitch. She shrugs in the low light and nods me forward still covering her. She looks behind the nurses' station, quietly digging in the drawers, no cart in sight.

"Not here. Bloody fucking hell" she slips into a closet nearby comes out with a stack of linens scooping a pillowcase off the top. Points to door number two and disappears nodding at me. I crouch behind the counter my muscles shaking as I peer over the edge keeping myself out of sight while Skya raids the closet. I hear subtle bumps and clicks as she moves supplies and fills her pillow case with whatever she thinks Hershel will find useful. The door pops open too hard bumping back against wall "THUD"

In the quiet of the abandoned nursing home it sounds as if a dog got its head stuck in a garbage can while digging for food. The door bumps loudly twice and all of the corpses rise to attention growling in unison. Fortunately many of them are stuck in wheelchairs some tied down with a sheet after the world popped open like a bloated corpse. Others are dragging themselves forward toward the racket the stupid green bitch made. She drops her bag full of stuff, rolling her neck pulling her hatchet and knife out ready to face some stinking corpses. The first one snarls at her and she raises her hatchet over her head bringing it down in a too hard arc burying it too far into the old lady's head. It gets stuck Skya nearly not getting it free before the next one is on top of her. I stab a little bent man through his eye as he collapses like a spent balloon. She turns to the corpse on her right abandoning her hatchet momentarily to deliver a strong uppercut burying the hilt of her dagger in the mushy lower jaw; simultaneously killing the brain as the motion drags him forward revealing the Swiss cheese of rotten buttocks as the useless hospital gown flaps apart. Skya smirks at me as she finally recovers both of her weapons wiping them on the hospital gown of her most recent "patient". She stands back up stretching her shoulders putting her weapons back in her belt pointing down the darker hallway. She caught my hand and mouthed "sorry". I just raised my eyebrow and trudged forward my sword raised and ready to back her up or alternately poke her in the ass if she does anymore stupid shit.

We walk down the hallway as quietly as we can readying ourselves for the horde of unhygienic cannibalistic grandparents. She pushes over wheelchairs as I note many of the corpses were tied to their chairs and I file this fact away to be horrified at later. Again too fucking noisy. I shush her but it's far too late for the inexperienced dumbass to grow a brain and the noise alerts the corpses trapped in nearby rooms as the thudding against the doors escalate. Fortunately the doors are heavy fireproof doors that the stupid corpses can't figure out how to open. I stab corpse after corpse as we make our way down to the next nurses' station, gore beginning to run down my blade like a river of congealed tar, the blackened goo coating the walls and my pants. My shoulders beginning to feel the burn as the sweat drips off my nose, washing the spatter of gore onto my shirt. Skya has a look of intense concentration on her face as she begins to get into a rhythm, hacking with her right slicing with her left, her duct tape covered sleeves adding protection if not mobility, surprisingly keeping up well with me, her long reach proving to be an asset. Together we put down seven more corpses, several immobilized by wheelchairs or dragging themselves but a few ambling around vacant as a beach in winter.

Skya

Well damn. We finally get to the nurses' station I'm just hoping they have a med room because if I can't find the key this is going to be fucking catastrophic. I find that it isn't as hard as I thought to put down people that could have been my patients in another life. They just don't remind me of people anymore and none of them would want to be cannibalistic corpses anyway. I hack and slice my way down the hallway kicking over wheelchairs, to immobilize them. I note that many are tied to their chairs by a sheet. Fairly immobile but still I don't need to lose a leg like Hershel from a corpse sneaking up on me and hamstringing me while I'm concentrating on improving my breaking and entering skills. I look for the nurses' cart and bingo it's there and so is the nurse. What isn't good is that it's in a corner with the nurse snarling at me from the floor where he was disemboweled, innards spread like grey burst noodles oozing out the most disagreeable of juices. The other point not in our favor is that this particular nurse would have been better suited to a career as a bouncer or as a professional wrestler.

As his hands grab at me uncoordinatedly I block his reach with my foot planted squarely on his closer arm, his hand scrabbling around my laces. His tag said RN. "Rob P. Carrey. My naughty little brain comes up with "Rob Apothecary" and I start to snort too loudly and shake with the gallows humor that is never too far away. I feel a poke in my butt and I jump back right into Michonne's freaking sword. Fuck. I just cut myself. So much for stealthy. I put my hand over the wound glare the evilest of wishes in her direction as I show her the red flower opening on my ass. And get back to the business of killing the man-mountain's brain. Thwack thwack goes my hatchet. Splatter replies his brain. I superimpose Michonne's face.

I mouth "fucking dumbass" at her and get down to business as I find the lever and pop the cart open. I pull oven my backpack and shove the wealth of creams and meds into it. I take it all not taking time to read each one. I even find a medicine reference book and grey's anatomy book in there too. I add batteries, blood pressure cuff and several scissors for dressings. It's a goldmine, and somehow I'm on Santa's nice list because if feels like Christmas for Hershel and me. And I got keys for everything now. I pull Michonne into the med room with me. And I'm breathing hard as my heart pounds like a drum erupting out of my ass.

"What the hell Michonne why did you stab me? Look at my ass I'm fucking bleeding because of you" I watch as she notes my freely bleeding rear end she shakes her braided head.

"I didn't ask you to back up into me. Besides I thought you were going to pull more of the noisy horseshit like you did down the hallway. What the hell were you laughing at anyway?" She cocks her head at me regarding me as a hawk would a mouse narrowing her eyes and crossing her arms.

"Hey I didn't open your veins making you smell like a blood borne buffet for the withered carnivorous blue-haired corpses out there" I'm pulling a package of gauze and tape open handing it to her roughly as I tug down my pants setting aside my hatchet and knife.

"Skya?" Michonne asks "You have the whitest ass I've seen in a while and I think you're glowing in the dark" She smiles her teeth very white contrasting her dark skin.

"Fuck off. You still stabbed me you idiot. Just tear some gauze off here is a pair of scissors, rip some tape off. Cloth tape is easy. Then tape the top so the blood doesn't come through. Damn that fucking hurts "I hiss through my teeth as she dresses my wound as I steady myself on all fours my naked butt shining like the stereotypical moon. My breathing slowing as the pressure slows down the bleeding and the throbbing of my pin cushioned ass.

"Gimme your damn bag. Watch out for me again. I shove the bag full of dressings and tape, nasal cannulas and I find a butt load of protein shakes. "Holy shit Michonne we need a wheelchair for this". She walks to the door putting down a walker corpse that was waiting, tipping a fatter one out of her wheelchair stabbing her through her soft head.

"Here it is, load up" Michonne growls pushing the chair toward me scanning the gloomy hallway for movement"

5 minutes later we are careening down the hall with two backpacks, one wheelchair full of health shakes and another wheelchair full of oxygen tanks ready to load up the car.

I screech to a halt. As we reach the end of the hallway a small group of corpses saunter out from the end of the corridor. I look around trying to find the source of the rest of the corpses having already put down the ones we encountered on the way up the hallway. I can't stop fast enough because of the weight of the chair full of oxygen tanks.

Moving to the side of the wheelchair as it careens ahead of me I pitch forward over the chair fighting to prevent the w/c from capsizing bellowing "Shiiiiit" and landing full force on my left wrist as the tanks begin to fall on the floor, feeling something tear loose deep inside my elbow. Oxygen tanks have been known to take a wall out on occasion, a dropped oxygen tank if it hits the wrong way and discharges can become a missile. The fire of pain percolates up my forearm from my outer elbow and I hiss through my teeth as I sit amid the wreckage of strewn oxygen tanks the corpses ambling over to me because I'm no doubt smelling like bloody steak tartar.

I begin to crawl to my feet, pulling a tank up into my armpit; luckily its' key is attached. I open it right into the face of the first corpse to reach me as and I roll it away from me in the wheelchair as it splits the relative silence with an earsplitting shriek on its way down the hallway the corpses becoming distracted.

"That's right butt muncher have some fresh fucking air "I finally have removed my hatchet from its place in my belt. And bury it with all my frustration to the hilt in his skull as I crawl unsteadily to my feet, pain making me slower than I usually am. I follow that up with a spin to my left and kicking the corpse away again burying my hatchet into his face. Now I know why Merle swears at the corpses as he kills them through the fence. It helps a lot with the pain.

"Come-on you dirty old man, you would make a maggot blow chunks you miserable old fucker" as I poke a deep hole into his brain. I love my hatchets. I slow to a stop as the pain starts making me sick and I'm unable to lift my left hand and wrist. Michonne comes up behind me breaking into my fugue.

"Skya" she calls quietly putting her hands on my shoulders, gently squeezing me, her dredlocks dusting my shoulders "Just stop. I got the rest, I got em. It's time to go".

I shake my head to clear my mind from my intense corpse killing focus, noting the gore dripping from my body and hair, the sharp pain in my wrist and elbow.

I watch as she tips a corpse out of a different wheelchair, so we can still carry these oxygen tanks back to the prison.

I keep a look out as she begins to load the oxygen tanks into the wheelchair. I turn my head to make sure no other surprises are lurking in our direction. I hear the increased noise behind the closed doors of the rooms, being that the metal of the oxygen tanks striking the floor during my graceful parabola to the ground was not so much of a quiet event. I make sure I have a viable tank key and gauge. I nod when she gets them all loaded again.

"Shit girl I've never seen anything like that tank right in his face" Michonne regards me, quirking a smile in my direction

"Just the inspiration of pure desperation. Still, I hate to waste a tank like that though" I smirked as I admitted "That and I hate to lose"

We finally roll by the first nurses' station to pick up the pillowcases and I realize that I see the cart tucked away in a corner that we didn't earlier see . " .wait" let me get the meds out of this one too. I look around the desk making sure there are no remaining ill timed surprises. I uneventfully find the lever and pop open and raid the cart, finding another huge assortment of meds, nursing tape, sterile dressings. I tuck my injured wrist into my waistband and fill two more pillowcases and stack them on top of Michonne's wheelchair.

"Okay let's get the hell out of here. I don't think we can fit anymore and I don't think I can drive like this; not today anyway. I might have fucked up my arm when I fell." I hold the door open with my ass as she scoots the laden wheelchairs through and up to the car. I show her how to secure the tanks in the trunk. Packing linens around them to prevent them from shifting. I throw the bags of meds gently into the back seat followed by the massive amounts of hygiene supplies and bandages. Michonne packs box after box of the nutrition shakes into the bottom of the car followed by the tubing and IV bags with needles. To my mind an unimaginable gold mine. We gently close the car doors and we pile into our respective seats sighing in relief as we prepare for the hour long trip back to the prison. We will no doubt have to explain ourselves to Rick and Merle; who also will be pissed off at the two of us going it alone with little planning relying on my knowledge of nursing homes and Michonne's aptitude for stealth and Ninja skills.

She sighs as she gets settled for the drive back stretching her shoulders rolling her head, channeling feline energy, regarding me silently but thoughtfully. "Hum. Not bad Skya, Not bad. I think we can pair up again. You've more to you than I thought. I loved how you used the oxygen tank to herd the dumbass walkers. You have a brain rattling around in there. She flashed a rare but stunning smile for once reaching to her eyes.

"Louise"

I looked at her questioningly not understanding, she regarded me with a mischievous glint.

"I'm Louise your Thelma. And Im sorry I stabbed you in the ass. If I were in that movie I wouldn't total such a sweet car and I would do more than stab the hunk in the ass".

I can't believe she has such a dry sense of humor so much like mine. "I wouldn't have put up with that idiotic abusive husband If I were Thelma. I would have driven to Canada and been less of a scatterbrain. Humm maybe we need a different movie that one doesn't seem to fit." I regard her out of the corner of my eye.

"We could rewrite it and make it our own. Make Louise a Badass kendo artist lawyer and Thelma a smart-ass axe throwing therapist who will pin you to the wall if you try to take the easy way out. We would screw all the hotties. Kick ass and sleep in on Saturday". Michonne chuckles deeply pleased with her take on the movie.

"Ooh I know practical magic. I liked that one even better than Thelma and Louise". I start humming the theme song. One of my all time favorite movies. "They Kill the demon; beat a love spell with a nicer love spell. Drink margaritas, have lots of sex, dance naked, garden. Live in Massachusetts. Have a huge Halloween party on Samhain, what's not to love? They can still be Ninja Lawyers and axe wielding smart ass therapists"

Michonne just repeats that throaty laugh of hers smiling at me as my lids grew heavy, the pain in my arm and butt making me drowsy. The next thing I knew Merle and Daryl were opening the gates for us. Merle coming to my side of the car with a thunderous expression but worry glimmering from his eyes.

"What the hell girl. Dumb shit ya coulda got yerself killed. Whoa. Ya got enough loot to fill a whale's asshole" Merle snarled at both of us thrusting his square jaw forward contentiously

I woke half way up and and stretched raising my left hand just noticing the massive swelling in the knuckles and wrist, I reach through the window with my right to pat his graying beard and caressed his cheek thinking Shit that swelled up fast.

"Merle you're so sweet you're worried. Really I am okay. Im just tired. Look at all the supplies we found" I saw the red coloration flooding his pale pasty skin a sure sign of him experiencing anger or protectiveness probably even he doesn't know (or wanting to admit) which

"Damn Freckles what ya done gone and did to yerself. Hey Michonne what y'all doing with her out there she ain't ready. Ya let her get hurt. Wha the HELL"!

I stop kidding him and lower my voice. "Stop it Merle. I was out there with two kids by myself for nearly a year before I met you with only a city girl's knowledge and my ability to learn quickly. Yet I survived and was able to learn A LOT on my own. Don't make the mistake in thinking that just because I've never lived in the wild that I'm helpless on a run. Yes I hurt my arm, but it wasn't Michonne's fault, blame the oxygen tank. I already sparred with it and it won" I then flipped over and went back to sleep.

Michonne's shoulders shaking was the last thing I saw before I passed back out followed by Merles frustrated grumble "Y'all a pair of smartasses, you deserve each other! Hell come get me when she wakes. She looks worse than a dog that just puked and ate it."


	39. Thing One and Thing Two

Thing One and Thing Two

Michonne

"It looks like thing one and thing two are headed this way" I'm standing outside Skya's Cell watching as the Merle is briskly walking in our direction tailed as always by his brother. I watch him wince slightly as he attempts unconsciously to square up his shoulders. I smile to myself glad to see him finally wearing his prosthetic again, but noting that he needs to reacclimatize himself to its weight. I watch as the brothers barge into Hershel's cell clearly wanting an update on Skya's wounds. Now Merle spins around quickly thrusting his jaw forward as he considers where else to find her and I can almost see the steam billowing above Merle's head.

What I don't understand is the anger he feels about finding Skya off on a run with me. I understand the concern of her children as I rub Mya's shoulders and allow Liam to lean on the wall next to me as Hershel finishes stitching the wound on their mother's butt. Now I feel lower than snake shit as I watch her kids as Mya cries, shaken by seeing her normally very capable Mother being taken care of by Hershel.

Hmm? Hershel gives me a questioning glance as he looks up from stitching Skya's pearly white butt. I still feel a little crummy about sticking her with my katana, even if it actually was an accident. She was being stupid, making a goddamn racket and could have gotten us killed. I watch as she screws her face up in a rictus of pain grunting slightly with each stitch.

"Any reason you refused pain meds? Or are you just trying to prove something?"

I turn to face Skya who is lying face down with her head angled away from her sore arm and her butt in the air. It's disconcerting, as I seemingly direct my conversation at a partially draped glowing pallid moon rising from the depths of Hershel's cot. The wound appears as a too red smile on its pale sphere.

"Damn you're taking this better than I would have guessed. You're full of surprises and I'm sorry I poked you; although it was an accident".

Skya grunts slightly in response sounding suspiciously like "yeah right".

"That should do it", Hershel states clearing his throat. "Maybe consider looking behind yourself when backing up near a sword next time".

Hershel chuckles into his beard looking at Skya out of the corner of the eye with an amused gaze.

"I would like to hear the story sometime but I'm guessing this is not the time. Merle was a bit of a handful when they got back and found you two gone. I think he should be showing up soon. No need to upset him more than he already is"

I snort cynically "I can't imagine that man really being concerned about anyone without the name Dixon. It doesn't seem within his character to be really thinking about her wellbeing, other than to leer at her in a misbegotten play for his nurse."

Hershel straightens up limping over to me looking me in the face

"Don't be so sure Michonne, he has had a lot to think about when he had to spend time with us while healing. I find more depth to him than most would guess including perhaps himself. Don't sell him short quite yet"

I challenge his gaze silently for a few moments as we hear Merle's voice in the hall. Noting Skya pulling her clothes over her but poking at the the newly stitched sore spot.

"ummm. Hmm. I'll believe it when I see it" I put my hands on my hips and push my shoulders back into a more assertive pose of readiness as the pair of brothers arrive at the doorway in a wake of noise, profanity and frustration.

"The fuck you know 'lil brother?"

Hershel returns to Skya as he hears her moving on the cot and steadies her by the shoulders as she levers herself up to a sitting position; hissing slightly as she sits on the wound. He looks at me inquiringly I shake my head silently letting Skya shift under his gaze as Merle abruptly appears at the doorway

Hershel turns his back on Merle ignoring him as he continues to ask Skya about the run earlier today " 'chonne' tells me you banged up your arm too? What happened?"

Skya lifts her left arm to her lap cradling her hand. "I was wrestling some oxygen tanks to the ground. Feisty little buggers. They put up one hell of a fight but I convinced them to come with me after I pummeled them into submission."

I smirk at Skya's colorful description. I have to hand it to her she sure knows how to make the most clumsy duck footed face plant into a epic heroic adventure; even if it's mostly inflated if not fabricated.

"Don't listen to her she is full of shit." I gently shake my head braids tickling my neck

"She was pushing the wheelchair full of O2 tanks going too fast and came to the end of the hall nearly flattening a herd of walkers. Damn fool wanted to save the tanks from falling and blowing their seals; so the idiot tries to get in front of the chair and stop it. Being as graceful as she is she upends the whole damn thing and falls with it landing on a tank and twists her arm under it as she fell"

Merle and Daryl have arrived at the door as I explained; Merle crossing his good arm over his shortened one, his remaining fingers unconsciously playing with the straps of his prosthetic. Daryl hovering out of sight no doubt gnawing on his thumb while listening to our conversation.

Merle reaches up with his good hand to peer in, leaning on the doorway as always filling up the silence with tension. "Of all the brainless . . . Hell if ya ain't dumber than a mule chewing a mouth full of bumblebees" Merle adjusts his posture leaning forward stubbornly trying to stare down Skya who is studying the floor of her cell as if it is trying to tell her something.

I clear my throat suggestively making Merle back off from Skya and straighten up with arms again folded although in a less defensive posture. He raises his eyebrows at me as he steps into the cell filling it up further squinting at her with his jaw thrusting forward decisively as if to say "spill it Nubia"

I continue refusing to be disconcerted by his presence

"Hold on Merle you haven't heard the good part yet. So there she is sitting on the floor, surrounded by oxygen tanks, grunting in pain she grabs a tank one handed mind you, putting the end under the arm she just that moment hurt and knelt behind it yanking open the valve with the worst ear bleeding screech right into the face of a walker and the force of it peels the skin right off its' cheeks. She kills him with the end of the tank; plops the tank in a wheelchair and pushes it down the hallway with it still screeching, attracting walkers like a blood sprinkler".

Merle plops down on the bed with an amused squint in his bright blue eyes next to Skya making the bed shift with his bulk as she bit into her lip hard as she fought to remain stoic through the pain. She did not acknowledge him as she continued staring at the floor blushing all the shades of red; appearing as though her head is going to pop like a blood blister. He nudges her good side with his shoulder shaking his head.

"Ya pulled some stupid shit today and could have gotten yerself killed. Then where would have those citified little rugrats been without yer ignorant self? Underfoot prob'ly. Before ya go running off trying to prove yerself again think of them if ya ain't gonna think of yerself. Ya don't wanna make that mistake. Ya follow?"

Hershel tries to navigate around the multiple people in and around the infirmary cell "I know you mean well son but you need to stand outside with your brother Skya needs more attention and you and Michonne need to give me some breathing room".

Skya looks up at me with a weary smile, pain clinging to her features, her shoulders held rigidly with the left arm curled into her stomach; beads of sweat shimmering on her forehead making her dark red hair appear even darker.

"I'll be alright Michonne, Merle won't bite even if he thinks he will and this isn't the first time I've broken a bone. Not by far. Hershel will take good care of me"

As Hershel rested a hand on her arm she spoke "I know it's broken I felt the bone snap as I twisted my elbow and the muscles pulled away. I couldn't even attempt to lift or bear weight on my arm. I have done as Merle so eloquently put it 'some stupid shit' frequently enough in my past to be well aware of what a broken bone feels like."

Hershel sits next to her on the other side of Merle stating "on second thought Merle you can stay. Michonne can you take the kids to Bethy to look through the clothes and tell her that I need my green leather jacket, if you could send them back with it I would appreciate it"

Hershel smirks at Skya looking so embarrassed and Merle looking so out of place as he gets ready to treat Skya's broken arm. I wonder at such an odd request on a warm day like this but I will have the full story from Beth. I leave in frustration being unceremoniously kicked out. I know that Hershel is trying to get Merle to be more useful and develop some empathy by helping Skya who spent so much time on his own healing.

Hershel:

I smirk to myself as I send the kids and Michonne to Beth for a Greene family snipe hunt. Bethy will know when they announce that they are looking for a GREENE jacket that she needs to keep them busy. I've been sending the many neighbor children on scavenger hunts for decades by sending them to my wife or my farm manager Otis with the message that they are looking for something GREENE.

I've noticed that Skya is looking peaked and her eyes have become glassy which is concerning but the fact that her demeanor is uncharacteristically quiet and passive illustrates the depth of her injuries. She blushed as soon as Merle reminded her that her impulsive actions today could have taken her from her children. I've never seen her looking so withdrawn, the entire time she was helping Merle mend. I note that I have only seen her in a protective role; with her children or standing up for Merle while he was healing. She must be in pain but all she shows is quietness and embarrassment with a gentle rocking motion as she stares at the floor.

I catch his attention while Im gathering supplies including his discarded splint from his own fractured arm. "Merle I'm going to need you to support her back. I'm going to move her arm and see how bad the break is. Hopefully it won't have to be reset like yours needed to be".

Merle snakes his good hand around her back moving her long tangled hair out of the way. Huffing under his breath in concern as he was unable to express it in words; but it was visible in his eyes for those who knew how to read the emotionally stunted man.

"Heeeay dumbass ya look sorrier than hunting dog that ate a cake of butter then done puked inside the house" I saw a ghost of her smile as I gently lifted her arm as she grumbles to herself. She leans into Merle's arm closing her eyes wincing as she straightens her shoulders, rolling them slightly to decrease her pain.

"Damn I'm such an asshole. A whole year without any injuries during the fucking end of the world and when I try my first run here it's a complete fustercluck; in other words chickens as dumb as they are could have done better"

She leans on Merle's left side as I extend her arm out to the side and and over the head with minute shudders from Skya thankfully no moans or crying. I know how Merle is out of his element but he rightfully should be the one to assist being that he knows how badly a broken arm hurts since his is so recently healed.

"Skya your shoulder is fine, now I'm going to need to try out your elbow. I think that's the problem. Are you ready Skya?"

She looks up at me with a wan smile. "Do I have a choice? These things don't exactly age well like wine or cheese" I note the knot on outside of the elbow right near the where the head of the radius should be.

"There is a slight misalignment of the head and neck of the radius, should be easy to fix, Beth did the same thing once when she tried to do a cartwheel into the lake and twisted her arm too far".

Skya flinches and snorts as I continue to try to manipulate her bone into place

"Luckily I know the reduction of this one too" I continue to explain as Merle begins to sweat while watching Skya stoically suffering.

I look into her pale face her slight lines in the corners of her eyes twitching with the strain and her chewed lip showing ruby red in the late afternoon sun.

"Okay Merle here is where you come in. I need you to help her lie down with her left arm on your lap elbow hanging over where I can hold it. I will hold her elbow and you guide her hand and rotate her arm when I tell you. This will bring her bone back into place when you turn her hand over"

Merle settles into the chair I pull over for him, I notice as I have before the neatness and economy of movement in the stocky man as he settles into the chair angling himself so he can grip most efficiently with his hand. I could probably do this better without him but he needs to be included in this and have others witness him helping me with her medical care – a perfect role reversal. I doubt he has touched another in this way since he treated Daryl's injuries as a child.

"Hold on old man let me get my cuff back off".

He grunts and slides his cuff off his arm sighs

"Damn that feels better, mostly I wear it but sometimes it's too stiff and I can't feel through it. This shit is delicate. I know what yer doing old man, I've done shit like this before and Im good at it, it's been a long damn time".

He leans back up after placing his cuff next to his chair rubbing his stump slightly wincing at the contact with his sensitive scars on the end of his arm.

"Ok now tell me what to do"

I explain to him that he needs to turn her hand and arm over briskly as I hold her radial head in place and the bone will slide back into place and then we can bind it into a half splint for a couple of weeks until it is stable.

Merle makes smutty jokes "umm sweet nips ya didn't have to break yer damn arm to get me to hold yer hand. Ain't that kinda backwards though?" He chuckles as Skya mumbles "Shut up doofus."

Hmmm maybe I need to ask Glen to find some more condoms; we certainly don't need any babies from Merle running around here. Lord above what a handful they would be and Merle is experiencing a bit of a shortage of those parts about now.

I get her into position feeling the part of her bone just ready to slide back into joint against the lower part of the humerus.

"Okay Merle turn over her hand so her knuckle face up when I say now. Ready? Here we go 1-2-NOW!"

As he turns over her hand I guide the bone into place with a soft groan from Skya as her face goes even whiter under her freckles and sweat glistens of her face. Merle's eyes squint with concern that he is unable to express in words. He scoots his chair closer to her as she opens her eyes up again smiling gently at Merle.

"Ya okay, Freckle . . . "

". . . Merle didn't you hear me say don't call me that name. Makes me feel like a lactating dog"

He snorts in humor "I guess I can be nice to a gimp, Freckles" he chuckles wiping off his face with his exposed stump for emphasis, rubbing his scruffy face on his forearm.

Im getting Skya's splint in place also known as Merle's discarded splint. Although it is technically too big I've wrapped in it in one of my old shirts and secured it with the sleeves.

"See no biggie. Ill mend. You did. Look at you you're almost all better now. You're hunting, killing walkers. Now you need to show me how to track and hunt so I can live in the wild with the kids if I need to"

He explodes off his chair and away from her on the cot his tolerance for feelings suddenly over his capacity to contain.

Merle

"What the hell girl; you're going to compare yourself to me. Damn fool ya can't. You're no soldier. You're nothing but a citified pampered princess. Who's been cared for all her life? Ya hide in a goddamn hole for a year and think ya got survival skills? Ya think an afternoon in the woods with me showing ya is gonna teach you how to save yer kids? SHIT. Yer more of a fool than I am"

I stand at the doorway breathing hard, rubbing my hand through my tangled curly hair, longest it's been in a decade.

"Thing is ya don't get that this is not something ya can learn in a day or be a month or a year. Ya gotta be raised doing it. Like I was and like I did with Daryl, at least until I went to the fucking Marines"

I'll show yer kids things like I did Daryl, I'll show you how ta track and hunt. But ya better learn fast. I don't want ta hear no complainin' about cold or wet or hot or tired. I mean NONE of that shit. I listen to y'all ya know even when ya don't see me. I don't miss any of the shit ya citified asshats say" spits out of the cell. Damn fools what the hell have I got myself into"

Skya rolls over on her side and levers herself to a sitting position. "Merle I don't think it's easy or I would have already done it. I don't like asking for help, but Im trying to be a new person for now, a little less of a loner. I'm trying to be less of a city chick and more of a survivor; maybe less of a liability too. Thank you for helping me today. I know it's not really your thing, helping others through their pain."

I'm still standing at the door barely listening, absently massaging my scars on my right arm, miles away imagining her dead body walking around or worse biting her kids their looks of horror splashed against my brain. Dumbass bitch going off on a run, not thinking of her kids left behind.

I turn to look at her smirk and shake my head. "Later freckle nips"

I push myself off of the rusty bars of the doorway and head down the hallway blinking in the last rays of afternoon sunlight angling into my dark sensitive eyes. The more I replay the feel of her bones under my remaining hand crunching into place the shudder of her skin unable to hold back the pain; the angrier I get although I don't have a notion of why.

I walk back to where I was beginning to prepare our catch, disgusting little rats as they are. I flex my fingers not realizing it at the time but now I note that my cuff was left in Hershel's cell.

I listen as my booted feet clomp heavily, echoing through the hallway to the table with our catch on it. Daryl and Liam are finishing preparing his squirrels, and cleaning his crossbow. I ask growling the words "How's dinner coming?"

Liam's hands are covered in squirrel gore as I stalk up to them.

"Almost all skinned Mr. Merle" pips up Liam who is staring at me out from under his too long bangs, straight as a cornstalk as my anger slowly evaporates.

"Ya make me sound like a teacher kiddo" I snort at the ridiculousness of the image" Ya know I don't even know if I can still write come to think of it, haven't even tried since this happened" I point at him with my scarred uncovered stump. "I probably can't even sign my name. Ya know it's the end of the world when I have to rely on my brother to write for me"

I stand next to the table and start working my belt off; bit by bit I finally get it my fingers edging it out of my belt loops. I'm happy with my height, being that I can comfortably lean on the table with my knee and my elbow to make up for my hand. I secure the belt around the chest and neck of the possum passing it through the middle table planks of the beat up old picnic table. My elbow holds it down as I fasten the buckle with my hand, struggling to stabilize it with my stubs.

"Remember kid if you ever end up a cripple, keep things available that ya can fasten shit to hold them. My belt saved my life once. I'm never without one even if I don't need it for my pants."

I straighten up from pinning my rat as if wrestling it into position to prepare the thing. I'm about to make the first cut into the abdomen, the belt holds it steady while I can stabilize the rest of it with my elbow and cut the carcass open with my hand angling the knife to lay against the stubs and my palm. As I direct the incisions, Liam sits down ant watches as I talk him through it and how I'm adapting it to my more limited grip.

I hold the paws down with my elbow instead of holding them with my hand as I cut around the "wrists" and "ankles" of my prey and instead of pulling the fur off in both directions at once I have to ease it out one end at a time just like I have to do with my own pants. I needed Liam to hold it for me a couple of times but I'm sure I can work around it later. Not bad for my first real hunting trip for food since my injury.

At least now I'm hunting for food and walkers to put down instead of human prey for the Governor. It takes longer than it used to and I have to be more of a contortionist using my knee and right elbow to hold the little thing steady but I finally get my kill cleaned and look up to Daryl watching me waiting for me to finish with an unreadable expression on his face.

Liam looks me hard in my face as if he doesn't know what to make of me with a similar expression to Daryl

"Who the fuck are you and what the hell have you done with my asshole brother?"

I stand up panting my mending bones aching slightly from the odd positions I had to use. I stretch listening to the quiet pops and clicks of my beat up carcass protesting the over abundance of activity.

"Well hell Daryl, ya wanted me to change after Woodbury; now yer crying into yer purse because I am, what the hell do ya really want boy."

I lean on his end of the table, half my butt on the table taking a towel from him wrapping it around my hand and cleaning my fingers and palm. Then handing it back and beginning the painstaking process of cleaning and rethreading my prized leather belt. One of the things that you never consider how complex it is when you're limited to one hand, just like keeping your nails clipped (I've always gnawed mine), your face shaved and shoes tied (still can't do that one).

"Come on were fixing to miss dinner if we don't get these rats to them, old man"

Daryl pulls my kill over and adds it to his. Getting up shaking the shaggy brown hair out of his eyes, looking almost as old as me with the fatigue worn tracks in the corners of his eyes and the bags under his eyes so dark that he looks like he's been back in the damn Governor's fighting ring, with a pair of black eyes.

"What? Who the hell ya calling old? I can still knock ya on yer ass and sit on yer chest and ya know it.

I hook my ankle around his and start prying him off the table

"Yes but because ya tend to fight dirty" He said as he set the bowl back on the table so he didn't lose our dinner before it had the chance to make the citified pussies sick. I push him back down on the table beginning to tip him backwards with my feet and my strong arm.

"Is there any other way, Dumbass?"

I push him back and flick his ear like I did when he was little, too bad I can't carry him home upside down by his ankles dangling over my shoulder. Still I'm taller by a good couple of inches and have never lost the ability to look down on him even if I'm still working back to my former bulk. He will never stop being my little brother, and I'll never stop treating him as if he were a ten year old little shit.


	40. A Monkey & Two Junkyard Dogs

**_It looks like I'm getting a chapter out every month. Sorry for the wait. I haven't put my disclaimer out there for a while so I better be a good little fangirl (yeah right). Anyway. Bleah bleah. I don't own Merle (wish I did there would be the most fun fireworks or generally badass pyrotechnics) AMC does. That's the only reason he died. _**

**_I will always think that the times that Merle was there was the most authentic and honest that the series had to offer. I still like TWD but I don't LOVE it as I did when we still had Merle. But WAIT Merle is still alive in my mind and his adventures go on and are soon to begin a strong AU turn after we catch up to season 4. Thanks to my loyal readers. I adore you and you mean more to me than you know. _**

**_I also am happy to say I am reading some wonderful FanFics out there. A shout out to: The Wrong Brother, His walls, The Beauty Within, Spare Room, En Route Pour la Joie (it will translate to English), Polar, A little Bit of Heart and many others that I can't remember at 5am. Apologies if I misspelled any. Enjoy peeps. _**

A monkey &amp; 2 junkyard dogs

Rick:

I'm not happy with Hershel setting Michonne and Skya onto a supply run for the nursing home. I'm still getting a sense of the woman with the standoffish attitude and the over the top personality. I am unfortunately reminded of Andrea with her idealistic and brave but dangerous solutions and her equally poor taste in men. She seems to be better equipped for survival but has a tendency to give herself over to her assumptions. I sit at the table as my thoughts wander far away from this musty dank hallway. I consider how to get the prison population and the survivors of Woodbury to function as a balanced unit.

I clean my weapon gently and carefully maintaining and oiling it so that it is in better working order than anything in this godforsaken prison. I'm perched sideways on the bench of one of the picnic tables halfway ready to bounce to my feet, considering my problem. I'm ready to go talk to Hershel and find out what he could have possibly been thinking to risk Skya on an ill planned adventure that somehow succeeded. I listen to the sudden intrusion on the mundane sounds of the meal being prepared. The noise approaching heralding the restless energy of the Dixons; the elder noisy and obnoxious as usual but less caustic than before his injuries. I turn back to the table feigning intense concentration as I finish the oiling of my firearm and beginning to piece it together.

For the hundredth time I remind myself that I would have once upon a time considered a man who appears as I do a suspicious looking vagrant. Maybe I should consider trimming my beard, it's getting itchy, but I again remind myself who am I here to impress? The Walkers? Daryl? Who by the way causes me to slap fleas every time we are on watch together? It's a sad state of affairs that his brother the ex henchman of the Governor, routinely smells better and carries less wildlife on his person than my best friend. I hope to ignore the chaotic reformed druggie but let it never be said that he isn't observant. He pounces like a hungry wolf on my discomfort, not letting me bury myself in my task forcing me to return to present.

"Darlena you go and drop off the rats to the kitchen bitches. I gotta keep officer unfriendly outta trouble here"

Daryl stops and eyes Merle who is settling himself on the edge of the table in a surprisingly nimble manner considering his injuries are still fairly recent, clearly unsure that he can trust either of Merle or I with the other. I nod back at him as he scratches his grubby head as he hefts his bowl of dissected woodland rodents soon to be our next meal.

Merle commented

"Son don't ya be adding your fleas as seasoning. I might just sit on yer ass and forcibly scrub your funky rank carcass before ya start turning the meat rancid. Shit man didn't I raise ya better n that?" He chuckles at my grubby friend's expense and I'm aware that I'm obviously witnessing a long-standing routine as Daryl smirked and scratched his butt and locking eyes with his elder brother while adjusting the bowl.

"Dontcha remember old man? You weren't never there. I got raised by the wolves and Chupacabra. Or did ya kill too many damn brain cells in yer partying days? And you even taught me how to catch fleas before ya started turning into the spick and span military man"

He snorted in my direction watching my bemused expression at the brotherly exchange

"Pfft. Later Rick. See ya on watch at nightfall?"

Sure as a magpie in a jewelry store the dumbass redneck zeroes in on the firearm on the table.

"Shee –it, never did ask ya where ya got such a sweet piece. A colt python is it?"

He sits down beside me putting his stump on the table in its reddened raw ugly glory, exactly where I cannot miss observing it. His instincts for people never failing to point out a weakness, he hones in on my discomfort in observing the result of my desperation and my impulsivity which cost him dearly.

I refuse to give him the satisfaction of a reaction only grunting in response to his interest and continue working on putting my firearm back together methodically and lovingly: tolerating rather than listening to his comments.

"You gonna kiss my little brother too? Ya got a nice little bromance goin' with him while I was away. Just remember. He's my little brother and whether he likes to admit it or not. I raised him 'specially when he was a little colicky shithead, runty as a drowned rat. Screaming his damn lungs out. I could always get him to settle. Ya just use that upside down hold. In fact yer little girl might settle next time her tummy hurts if ya try that. He just focuses on when I had to leave and . . . well no matter. You just remember he's worth every damn one of you put together and I'm watching how y'all treat him. You don't want to be forgetting that"

He sighs and turns to look at me after staring into space as he talked while massaging his stump with his equally raw looking hand

My mouth drops open at the sudden reveal of his past and his improbable knowledge and expertise with babies. He smirks as he takes in my gaping expression, narrowing his eyes suspiciously.

"What ya think I eat babies for breakfast or something? I carried that shrimpy little brat around like a damn football when I was just an ankle biter myself. But that's not what I wanna talk about"

I finally stop and face him with oil sliming my fingers in a manner all too reminiscent of putrid walker sludge.

"What d'ya really want Merle?"

He smirks again fiddling with his shirt's hem with his hand, shaking his head as if in disgust

"I want to know why the hell you would risk Skya, allowing her to go on a fuckin stupid run. I sure as shit can't write but one of all y'all should be capable of writing a damn list of shit ya need. Michonne might be black as a coal heartbeat but I'm sure she can read; she's a sight smarter than ya pussified city folk. That was a dumb assed decision if I ever saw one. Skya's green as they come with no training other than medical stuff. Ya can't be risking the medics, in Woodbury the medical folks never went nowhere they were too damn important."

I start wiping the oily goo off my hands put my firearm back in the holster and slowly look up again to face Merle's inevitable challenge

"Be that as it may this isn't Woodbury and we don't have an unreasonable psycho in charge. While you were sleeping your stupidity off we set up a council. I'm not in charge anymore. I was going to talk to Hershel and Skya and get to the bottom of this overconfident under planned adventure in idiocy. I don't like that they went off without planning several contingencies"

Merle with his protective spirit uncovered, barrels forward like a garbage truck on ice. Not stopping even though I'm AGREEING with him. I watch mystified as the taller man continues, his agitation beginning to pick up speed.

"If there was one thing the psychotic fucker got right that was it. Ya never risk the folks that can put ya back together again. Ya can't do much if you're dying from a stupid infection 'cause your wound turned bad or you're coughing yer toenails up. You would think all y'all are supposed to be smarter than a 'dumb as shit redneck' that's how ya put it right? Thought ya would know better than that? Guess you're a sight less smart than ya thought. Humph."

Merle leans back on the picnic table grunting slightly, rubbing his side with his stumped arm. "Gotta go get my damnable cuff anyway. Anyone see sign of the miserable asshole"?

I look at him wryly not following and turn away from my pistol still in pieces on the table "Merle who are you calling an asshole now Hershel or Skya and why are you so angry at them"

I sneeze at the small cloud of dust his restless agitation rises cursing yet again my early winter allergies, sneezing hard exactly five times in succession. I wipe my nose on the back of my sleeve.

Merle chuckles the lines around his eyes crinkling in mirth. "Damn yer slow Friendly; I'm talking 'bout the Governor, I was wondering if any ya'll caught wind of the bastard while as you say I was sleeping off my bad decision of trusting yer manipulative ass."

I rise from the table standing calmly looking at him silently for several moments, seeing again the man who risked so much for his brother and got so little in return,

"I wish I could tell you that we found him but we didn't. We sent team after team to track him; Michonne, your brother, trackers from Woodbury. They want him dead as much as you do. They were deluded by him and it cost many their lives. I'm sure you know that we found Woodbury burnt to the ground; the center of town gone, overrun by walkers, no sign of people still living there. His trail ended a mile out of town, his truck abandoned and no body. He must have continued on foot a bit after that but the trail dried up and we lost all sign of him."

Merle squints, looking at me with a disgusted shake of his head.

"Shit man I thought this would have meant something" He looked me in the eye got up and paced in front of me "You didn't even use the advantage you were given. Ya should have hit them and hit them hard right after. If I would have been in charge we wouldn't have been wondering right now. We would be getting to the business of living not preparing yet again for an attack. Y'all aren't even guarding this damn prison half assed. You only are guarding one side, no snipers in the woods. What does yer precious COUNCIL have planned now other than sitting like ducks I mean"

I watch as sweat beads his face and his hand begins to tremor as he begins rubbing his chest where he was shot, his thoughts transparent for once, his face going even whiter under his usual pallor. Previously fearless, his eyes now dilate with fear as he considers the Governor and the potential for the nightmare to return.

I adjust my revolver and test the slide pointing away from Merle who doesn't miss the minutest response "Ya never answered me ya know"

"I told you Merle I'm not in charge anymore and rightfully so. Solving taking down the Governor - that's the type of thing the councils is for; a thorough discussion of ideas rather than impulsivity. I was not part of the lack of planning for the run that risked Skya. I think we need to see Hershel for that information, being that he was the one who needed the medical supplies. Dinner won't be for an hour or so. The cooks from Woodbury will let us know when it's done."

He stands grunting at me giving me a more characteristically hateful look.

"Humph. I was actually still wanting to know about your revolver I prefer my colt police positive. Ya know it's good for one handed use. I can pin it under my arm and reload the ammo" I'm gonna head back up to Hershel, I wanna get my cuff before dinner."

Merle stalks off throwing me a glance making sure I'm following. I tail behind him unsure of what to make of his suddenly reasonable demeanor. We end up at the entrance of Hershel's medical cell, as he sorts medications, dressings and much needed linens. Looking like a medical warehouse suffered a small tornado in his 'office cell'.

"Merle I expected you back a while ago to pick up your cuff, but Rick it's a nice surprise. What can I do for you boys?" he limps over to Merle with his cuff in hand as Merle sits down on the cot to apply his prosthetic.

"You mind me taking a look son? Your skin looks raw." Hershel casts a glance at Merles raw looking stump

"I'll do. I'm on to ya ol' man yer just trying to get me nekkid. Shit I'd almost enjoy it if it were someone of the female persuasion. Damn thing always looks raw, with the heat, sweat, and I made it with limited shit in way of materials. The fit has never been perfect, so it's always raw. Doc Gandhi said that the scars will be red for a while anyway due to the burns, couple of years maybe. So Peg-leg Pete you think I'll live long enough for the scars to settle down. Like the good Doc told me?"

Merle grunts as he shoves his stump into the cuff and pulls it tight, mumbling expletives under his breath as his limited grip slips off of the straps more than once until he repositions it on the cot and finally gets the buckles on his upper arm in place.

"Holy Hell finally"

I ask the question that has been bugging me since the nearly ill fated medical supply run returned. I turn to Hershel while rubbing my arms in the increasingly cool air, scratching my scruffy beard with my right hand, as I regard Merle readjusting his cuff out of the corner of my eye. Time to find my overshirt before dinner I guess. I direct my questions to the old veterinarian.

"Hershel, I respect your knowledge and your choices but I don't understand why you didn't talk about this with the council. We could have picked better trained people instead of risking the best trained assistant you have, especially one with children."

I come in the door and shift my weight standing with my hands on my hips staring the old vet down.

He sighs as he begins to explain

"Truth is I screwed up and did it as a favor to her. Neither of you know her as well as I do. She feels in need of a function and the opportunity to be valuable in addition to being 'the wound whisperer' as she put it. I think she is afraid of being abandoned if the Governor returns. I think the girl has some abandonment issues that stem from her life before all of this"

Hershel limps over rubbing his beard and the back of his neck with a guilty expression.

"Problem is that I'm not at liberty to discuss her history with anyone Rick. Not even you. I do think you need to get to know her a little better without being judgmental. She may just own you in Scrabble if you give her a chance. Apparently Skya and my Bethy spent many nights playing Scrabble with some of the older kiddos while they were watching Merle sleep. It might be a good way to get her to tell you her thoughts. I will warn you that she is holding on to a lot of pain and she tends to express herself in anger. But she is extremely loyal and has a tenacity for learning that is amazing"

I walk over to him regarding the supplies in disarray.

"I guess she didn't tell you that I offered her a permanent place in the group. She chewed me out because of Merle's injuries and his dumbassed near suicidal mission, and then told me she's not ready to formally join us"

I regard Merle smirking broadly as I related the story and her confrontational nature, noting similarities between the Medic and the hotheaded redneck.

Hershel returns to sorting the medications that cover all available surfaces.

"Just look at the bounty that the girls brought me. We have Cipro, Levoquin, Wellbutrin, Lasix, Cialis, Diladid, Percocet, Demerol, oxycontin, amoxicillin, hydrochlorothyizide, sertraline, seroquel, gentomyicin, lyrica, oxygen tanks, cannulas, dressings, pain meds. Look at all of this almost as good as the supplies that Dr. S brought before the Flu took him down. Look Merle some of this is for you just in case that healing lung of yours gets congested. I've been watching how you move son. I can see that you still get winded more than you want to admit. You need to come and tell me if it gets any worse or if your cough comes back. Pneumonia and Bronchitis are always going to be risks for you with the scarring you have inside your body. It's important that I know about it so I can treat you before you get really sick. This beaten up old carcass of a prison gets pretty cold and damp in winter."

Merle

Hershel can be counted on to open an issue that a man wants to keep to himself to prevent any pussiness from slipping through. I ain't gonna broadcast to the fucking prison population how hard I work in the morning to tame my cough; so it's not damnably obvious that my bullet induced asthma affects me every stinking day, and probably will for the rest of my godforsaken life. Only my brother sees me leaning over while hunting breathing hard not able to run as well as I did when I worked for the evil sonofabitch; the Governor.

I grunt and shrug as Rick cocks an eyebrow at me surprised by the revelation that the big bad Merle may not ever get back to his rightful condition.

"You alright?"

"Get this Officer Psycho. I'm better now than most of your group of misfits will ever be. You can stop looking down your nose at what you think is a cripple right the hell now, because I happen to be fully healed and fully independent. Don't think for one minute that you would have survived what I did. Not once but twice. I'm a bigger, badder and a far more rugged junkyard dog than you could ever hope to be, so you don't get to look at me like that. Just stay the hell away from me with your sympathetic looks. Ya best never forget that you had part in causing this twice. I know each time I try to grab something I am sure to be reminded. Now get the hell outta my way I got shit to do"

I wish Hershel had not mentioned what meds were recovered, the siren song of the Percocet &amp; the Oxies begin to wake the slumbering addict, the evilest of monkeys. Buried deep in my subconscious it's beginning to wake; stretching and laughing at my hidden weakness it's quick and sudden ascent onto my shoulders an unforeseen surprise as it begins to drown me in the craving of a chemical release. The comparison of addiction as a vicious monkey is entirely fitting. I've always had a deep abiding fear of non human primates after being bitten by an evil little fucker at a state fair the summer that my Father's twin uncle Jess was on leave from the Marines. The only time I had a wound cared for correctly as a child. I was 8 and Daryl was a newborn. He was horrified about the bite and the infection that followed. The doctor that treated the infection said I was lucky that I didn't get something worse as capuchins are known for carrying TB and Hepatitis. I've always thought that a monkey on my fucked up back is an excellent analogy for being pulled into drug use or not being able to break the cycle. I only wish I had not been present to see the meds and watch the old man store them. Now I gotta go through this craving of the shit again and having to beat up that damn Capuchin's ghost. I wonder if monkeys became walkers or if the virus came from some damn scientist fucking with the vicious little bastards.

I nod to Hershel and smile a blank smile telling him I will be back later. Knowing I can't stay away, all the willpower in my soul can't protect me from the fallout from that damn monkey bite all these years later. He narrows his eyes at me suspiciously watching me lick my lips while looking at the delicious drugs, nearly tripping over my feet to get out of the cell in my haste. The drugs yet again stripping me of my strength exposing my cowardice, burning me with the knowledge, ruining my sleep for nights to come. So I of course run away to find someone to take my fear out on.


	41. Ruminations

**_Kind of an odd chapter. I have trepidations whether you will like it or not. My style is a fairly unplanned one. I never know what or who will pop out of my MUSE. Usually its Merle or Daryl but sometimes other voices show up. I think Skya has been shaken by her injury and it is hitting home that yes she needs people. What happens in TWD-AUverse when a provider gets injured and is not as capable. Anyway whoever sticks with this for the next few chapters will see the end of this story and the beginning of part 2 as it follows the storyline in a decidedly more AU fashion . . . and a different style. Enjoy!_**

Mya 8 years olds

Mamma is resting. She went to get medicines for winter. Hershel asked her to. Michonne helped but Momma came back hurt. In her butt and she hurt her arm too. It scared me when Merle said she was acting stupid for going out there and she didn't care if she died and left us all alone. Merle tries to be mad at her but I think he is worried. I watched him go to talk to Hershel with Rick while Daryl, Liam and I took the meat to the kitchen. Merle grabbed his shirt from the table where Rick was working and went outside in a hurry. Im not sure if he looked mad or scared. I'm never sure of him. He is always mad or saying mean things but he isn't as bad as he seems. It was hard for him to be hurt for so long, especially because some of his injuries won't ever heal.

When he is upset he goes outside for awhile. Sometimes he sits on the broken down truck and reads. He really likes to read even if he doesn't like to admit it to people. I don't understand why; most people are proud of being smart and wanting to know stuff. It's almost like he tries to hide it like he wants people to think he isn't smart. He also likes to kill the monsters. He acts like he forgot they were once people, like they always were monsters. I think he is scared of something and doesn't want to ask for help or he doesn't know what to do about it. He still gets tired easily and coughs alot when he thinks no one sees him. He stops and bends over rubbing his chest and arm, he coughs and spit stuff up a lot just like Momma does when she gets sick in winter

Beth walks over to me with baby Judith and asks

"Mya you look like you flew away on your thoughts. Are you thinking of your Momma? Daddy will take the best care of her. I broke my arm like she did once. Daddy set my arm and I healed perfectly. My doctor always asked Daddy why he never became a people doctor. You know what he said"

Beth is smiling at me as she rocks the baby who is cooing.

"He said that he likes the conversation of the animals better and they are more pleasant patients"

Beth walked over to keep the cooks company. It's Maggie's and Justine's turns to cook tonight. Maggie turns and laughs

"Sounds just like him. It's Daddy's way of telling him that he likes patients who don't talk back. I agree. I'll take stepping in poop any day over arguing with someone who won't listen to you anyway"

I'm helping cut up some of the potatoes that were harvested. I'm enjoying listening to the conversations of the women from Woodbury and those who have been living here for awhile. I like how the two groups are getting along better. The flu victims are getting stronger and are able to help more. The gardens were dug up earlier this week and there are baskets of stuff everywhere. Pumpkins, potatoes, squash; beans, okra we need to cut them up, and store them for winter. Justine and her children, old Mrs. McManus has been teaching us about how to store stuff for the winter and her mechanic husband has been helping Daryl fix the trucks and get the generators running.

Even the south gets cold they remind me. I think Momma, Liam and I are the only Northerners to get stuck here. Even Michonne and Glen who are not from the south have been here longer than we have. Beth sits down to help me after Judith is placed in her baby prison so reminiscent of the cells that we now call our rooms. Beth and I talk, I tell her about life in a northern town on the lake, about our winters, how Daddy was just teaching me how to ski.

How my parents lived separately because of his being 'sick in the head' how he still was part of our family. How I miss him and Momma cries when she thinks she isn't being watched. How Daddy was a musician and would sometimes see things that were not there. How he would laugh when he realized, pop some pills but life would go on even when he was crazy. Now life is even crazier than him and my wonderful unstable sick in the head Daddy seems saner. I miss him so much, but he would have been one of those monsters now if Momma hadn't stopped him and my Aunt and Uncle. I realize that I'm crying and Beth comforts me humming wordlessly in time with her heartbeat. No wonder Judith loves her so much.

Dinner

Maggie

I finish setting up the buffet and count heads. Most of the kids have been served, their mothers or keepers assisting them to the tables and hovering to make sure they make good use of the meager food we have. The men and women are tired from their respective tasks, taking their places at the grown up tables; the preserved bounty of the harvest supplementing the scavenged foods. I think of how things are coming full circle and how fortunate that we have for at least a short time been able to carve out an existence. For whatever its worth I hope that the Governor died of the wound that Daryl inflicted on him. Lord knows it's so easy to die nowadays; that infection can turn you into a walker, in fact just about anything can.

I look around at all the people, we easily quadrupled our population after the Governor went nuts and we evacuated the Woodbury town folk. They are so different from us. They lived in comfort while we were living cellar to cellar and always on the move, still getting to know one another; watching Lori grow day after day with the bloom of pregnancy. Had we found Woodbury would she be still alive? Would we have been seen as a threat and would the 'war' have ever started. Stupid men! I watch Alice McManus laughing with the ancient Anna Fischer. The sweet wrinkled old lady told me that back in the day she was a tough old Army Nurse in the Korean War. Now she is a sweet elderly old woman with shaky hands who tells good stories and pulls out her teeth at meals, putting them in a glass. My granny did the same thing.

Would it be so wrong to pray for one man's death to save our community? Is this proof that the Good Lord above has lost all control to grant peace to his well meaning children on the Earth? Daddy might disagree with me there. Faith is so much easier for him than it is for me. And yet. And yet. Glenn and I found one another in the ashes of this world; when the flu took so many Daddy was able to save him. He has mended slowly but promises to make a complete recovery; "In the fullness of time" as Daddy likes to say. Skya and her family found us; and by doing so saved Merle for his brother. My Daddy likes to say that even a black sheep can shine like obsidian in the right place.

Mrs. McManus looms up in my face startling me back a few steps as I'm finishing my turn tending to the nights buffet

"Skya didn't make it down for dinner tonight and her kids are spending the evening with mine. Do you know if she needs a plate for Merle too?"

That one statement adds depth to the odd energy I've been noticing about the pair of misfits. They circle around one another, not wanting to be drawn in but unable to commit to entirely turning away from the other. At first I thought it was because of the time spent in isolation away from the flu. Now I see a bit of a role reversal happening. I never would have guessed it had I not just seen the look on his face as he bolted from the cellblock. Merle may actually be concerned under his antagonistic exterior. Skya now is the injured one and will have thankfully a shorter less painful recovery but will definitely be in a weakened condition for some weeks to come.

Thinking back on the events of the late afternoon with Michonne driving a huge pile of supplies and a bleeding Skya back from her run to the nursing home; I frown trying to make sense of her odd statement. Is there something that I have not noticed? I tend to notice new pairings especially those who are friends with my Daddy or my little sister.

The anger of Merle when he finished his triumphant hunt with his brother but returned to find his friend missing was uncharacteristic of the selfish man. The pride of my Father for Skya's success and his worry when she was wounded; illustrates that she has made herself a space in our community. The shouting matches between Merle and Rick, Merle and Skya and how he stormed past the kitchen wordlessly glaring at us all as he grabbed his shirt from the table and went outside on his own; proves that there are changes in their dynamic; more than friends but both not wanting to admit to it because they are both so damaged.

"Honestly. Alice. I never know much about what Merle does. He is best left alone I think. I've never understood how Skya tolerates his moods, crummy attitude and his filthy mouth."

Alice takes the plates from me and stops to consider me for awhile before she starts speaking as if she is silently asking herself a question about what she will reveal. She settles into her 'story teller librarian voice' as she speaks while preparing several plates to take up for Skya as she continues "Maggie, honey I know Merle is hard to get along with but I've seen a side of him that most others don't know. Do you remember me tell you that I was Woodbury's librarian?"

"Yes ma'am" I say as I settle in for a good story she has that timbre in her voice that my mama did just before she began telling me stories when I was a child. I miss mama's stories (sigh).

"Now Merle first came to my attention when he was new to Woodbury and they had to fix his arm. He had a long difficult convalescence and battled several infections before fully healing, meaning he spent a lot of time resting before he was cleared for activity. As you can imagine he was a frustrating and an unhappy patient, having to detox from his previous drug use as well as having to learn how to function with only one hand; his left. He told me that he is right handed. I believe his word on the subject was 'I'M still right handed but thanks to Officer Friendly without a right hand-ain't that just a bitch'. He told Dr Stevens that he liked to read. She asked me to pick out some good books to keep Merle occupied and out of her way. But he kept sending the books back. Finally one day I found him in the library.

He was sweaty, pale shaky and I quote "My arm is immersed in the fire of hell, the monkey won't get off my back and I'll be damned if I'm going to go another minute without some decent reading material or better yet some Playboy to look at. Whatcha got fer me ol' girl?"

He underestimated me instantly. I gave him the Holy Bible, the Kama Sutra and told him I could explain some of the positions if he needed any pointers, then I proceeded to ignore him for the rest of the day. He laughed made some lewd comments which I ignored before he did end up sitting down and reading the books for a while. Finally he found some other books that he liked, laughed then took them all back to the clinic where he was staying. We have gotten along ever since that day. He has a lot of negativity to show the world but inside there is a decent man with a wry sarcastic sense of humor that an old tart like me enjoys. He got caught up in the wrong group of psychopaths. The Governor never did fool me you know"

I finally get to prepare my own plate as Alice and I talked

"I don't think I ever will feel comfortable with Merle. I know he went through much more physical pain from what the Governor did to him than Glen and I did. I don't think he deserved to be hurt and I do understand that he tried to save us if only for his brother".

I'm beginning to fling food onto our plates more violently than strictly necessary.

"I don't think I will ever be easy around him and don't think I can ever stop looking at him with dislike. I still flash back to the Governor and hearing him beat Glen and not being able to stop it. I can't get over that he helped the Governor even though he knew that the man was a monster. He tortured Glen, because of what happened to him in Atlanta. The fact is I will never get over being (sexually) assaulted by the Governor and Merle could have stopped it. I don't think I can ever forgive that trauma. I'm sorry Alice I know you mean well. I can live with Merle here I know he has earned it, but I don't think I will ever like him".

I finally finish dishing myself the last of the so-called dinner and go find Glen.

"Alice can you take these up to Skya and be sure she understands that were not mad at her just worried. I hope she doesn't hide in her cell all night. I have a Scattagories game with her name on it and I'm going to kick her Yankee butt. You be sure to tell her that" I smile as I walk toward Glen with our dinner thinking of better things than the grumpy jackass Merle.

Alice McManus

I leave Maggie and take Skya several plates for her and Merle to eat. She seems to be one of the only ones that the complicated abrasive man actually seeks out upon occasion. I end up at her door and peer inside. I see a prison cell done over as a small bedroom, covered in blues and grays, calming colors for such an active, passionate person. I see her sturdy form curled up on the cot immersed in a book, her son next to her likewise immersed in "game of thrones" the librarian inside me glows briefly before making myself known.

"How are you feeling Lass? I brought you a plate and an extra for Merle"

"Alice you are a wonder. I forgot all about food I was immersed in my book. I don't get an opportunity to immerse myself as I used to. One of the girls picked this up on a run and couldn't get into it. I love the 'Outlander' series Jamie and Claire come across as old long lost friends. I think I've read it about 5 times. Some books have nuances every time I read them"

"Skya you are a balm to a librarian's spirit. Though I fear that storytelling and reading will be lost arts in another generation but of course that remains quite up in the air. So you are the talk of the town with going on a run unexpectedly and coming back wounded. Do you care to confide in an old gossip?"

Skya looks up with her brilliant blue eyes and her riotously messy long hair, grunting in discomfort as she rolls up to a seated position on her cot.

"Alice its statements like that that make me question your motives although I know you are well l meaning. It's no secret though, I just feel useless. You can't eat medical skills. if we have to run for our lives and I have to provide for my kids alone. I need to upgrade my skills into that of a survivor who knows how to move like a ninja.

She sighs and regards her son who is studiously watching us out of the corner of his eye

"I don't have good enough luck to imagine that the Governor was kind enough to conveniently die of his wound. He will come back and we will eventually have to run for our lives. I'm trying to hone my fighting skills, besides I know how to find things in a nursing home better than any others. I also think you are at least the 5th person in the last 6 hours to lecture me on how stupid I was. At least you were nice about it though and you even brought me food".

I place my plates on the makeshift bedside table as I notice that I only brought two. I might take Ian back to the buffet set up with me so Merle doesn't miss out, not that I think he would actually care, the man doesn't strike me as being used to regular meals, as skinny as he still is.

"Skya you serve no benefit in risking your life. You should stick with having some of the fighters spar with you but now that you're injured it might be a good month until you heal and more before you strengthen. Everyone knows it takes two months. Now you don't have the luxury of time. I think that's why so many people are irritated at your recklessness. I brought up a plate for Merle too. No doubt he will be by later. He's aggravating but he is concerned for you, being that you are one of the few he hasn't yet burned bridges yet. Give him a chance and don't take any of his attitude, I got to know him in the library when he would come there for some quiet relaxing time away from the all of the stress of having to answer to the Governor.

Alice sighs

"It's okay Alice I get what you're trying not to say. I've been resting all day and I will finish the food and come make an appearance. So people can see that Im going to be okay. I'm not going to hide all night.

Maggie is challenging you to a game of Scattagories and wants me to tell you and I quote 'I have a game of Scattagories with her name on it and I'm going to kick her Yankee butt' "

Skya finally smiles mischievously with Maggie's challenge "Oh you can tell her that she will beat me when walkers ride unicorns that shit rainbows"


	42. Sweetness, Captain Hook and Pegleg

**_Here we go peeps. I'm going to be absent for a couple of weeks as my summer schedule ramps up to a frenetic pace. Merle and Skya are turning a corner and you can tell that the population of the prison are peaceful but unknowingly hanging over a cliff. Life will push them over soon. There will be 1-2 more chapters until I continue this in the next story _****_Bayonet Rekindled_****_. That will take up where season 4 starts but in a AU tweaked manner. All I can say is poor Merle. As always AMC owns and I do not, except my OCs and story line. Please review and let me know what you think. To my followers and reviewers my thanks and enjoy._**

_Now _

_Merle awakes in Skya's cell collapsed seated against the wall next to her bed_

Mya grabs my right arm and shakes me awake before I can cause too much havoc in my self imposed trap of yet another ugly dream.

"Stop snoring Merle you're going to wake up Momma. You sound like an old hibernating bear"

Luckily Mya spoke before she touched me. After years of being beaten awake by my father and having to protect myself in prison or in the Marines; I am predictably a light sleeper who does not wake up peacefully when shaken; particularly when my newly healed arm is grabbed by the stump.

"What. What. Gimme a gun! Get off me Daryl why ya done gone and chewed on me! What kinda bullshit drugs ya on,boy?"

Mya and Liam both shush me, Liam asking me "Merle you're snoring and yelling; you're going to wake Momma. Why did you sleep sitting next to her bed anyway? Did you get lost? Don't you know your cell is down the hall a little"?

I look around finally awake bumping my nose uncomfortably with my right hand stump. I rub myself on the chest as my pounding heart slows down to an even tempo from a frenetic gallop. I wonder if I will ever cease to get grumpy when expecting to feel a sound hand when I'm half awake and all I end up feeling is jagged scars. All that remains of my dominant hand that used to fix things, hunt, and shoot so skillfully; that made so many women scream in pleasure. Damn I'm a melancholy fuck in the morning. It's always so much better if I just grunt when I feel like this.

Sometimes when I'm in the grip of a realistic night terror; it's so vivid that waking up seems like a gift-like Christmas morning in the house of a lottery winner. I look around just now realizing that I must have had a druggie flashback and ambled down here on my own for comfort. I realize that its just my drug cravings tormenting me; a residual from those forgotton empty years; and my frustration at being ignored and isolated even if it is my own fault.

Dumb kiddos haven't a clue.

_2o minutes earlier in Merles 9__th__circle of blood soaked nightmarish hell_

I flash back to my half forgotton years that I spent on drugs, even now they remain a haze; handcuffed to Cocaine and Meth, too weak to escape the self imposed prison of addiction. Now I'm not dreaming of imagery so much as the feel of drugs. The burning electricity of the craving is still hot and jabbing in my aching veins, the craving ebbing through my every pore, promising a lie but a pleasant one. I feel the snort of coke in my sinuses as the throb of my heart plays counter time to that in my loins.

I wake up at home hung-over from a night of tweaking. I stretch my arms and notice two perfectly working hands at the ends instead of mangled stumps. The stretch no longer pulls at a newly healed broken arm and scar tissue piercing me like a fishhook. I feel the glory of a painless morning stretch with minor grinding of my mildly arthritic limbs but no new pains.

I look beside me at the two tumbled bodies of my dual "date" hazily remembering trading drugs for sex, burning up my veins, letting my urges run wild. I hear an odd timbre to the groans from one of the girls and she launches herself at me snapping her teeth with her eyes gone yellow and her skin gone grey. She has an odd sickening smell and I push the other girl off of me and onto her as I clamber out of bed wierded out by the skank. She must have gotten some toxic cut drugs; she doesn't look so good in the morning light. But somehow that's been happening more and more in the news. I just had never seen it for myself.

I back out of my room bareassed intending to go find Daryl and ask him about the events of the night before. I hear hissing like a snake over my shoulder as Daryl sinks his teeth into the junction of my neck and I half turn to look at him. I then catch the chaotic scene in the living room as blood covers every surface and his skank is lying limply on the floor with a hole blown through her head. Apparently my brother didn't react fast enough being in his own stupor of sleep and marijuana. He woke up to the dead skank chewing a hole in his belly and now he returns the favor to me as I try to pull the little shit off me and I scream myself awake.

_8 hours earlier just after dinner_

I just wasn't prepared to be tempted by the drugs. I've been through so much after my self mutilation; the hell of getting clean, living on edge in Woodbury under the thumb of the Governor, qualifying all the sick crap I did to survive; finally stopping caring and living without feeling, thinking, high on power and for the first time in my life; respect from others. It was unlikely that I would survive the previous year, even less that I would thrive, but it was just as quickly torn away by the paranoia of the bloodthirsty psychopath we called the Governor and I was his valued soldier. When I looked into my brother's eyes in the ring, the months and years of self delusion finally were clear.

The gunshot wound through the chest should have ended it all but somehow it didn't. For what purpose I don't know, but I thought the drugs were behind me along with the months I spent healing under Skya's confident protection, she was always there never faltering. Now that I know the drugs are attainable; I could so easily go to Hershel's cell after dinner and take what I wanted, grab my things from my cell and walk away free from the looks, free from the annoyance of pettiness, the insubstantial meaningless small talk. All the things about people that have always annoyed me caused me to never really want to be part of a group.

And yet I am different, before my injury I would have taken what I wanted, never even considering others for more than a spit second; even Daryl for just a fraction longer than that. The voice of my craving is the loudest of all, a deep hum in my veins, the restlessness almost palpable. And now? There is either something wrong with me or something right, because my restlessness draws a face up from my subconscious. I see Daryl as expected, but now also Skya, Hershel, Michonne the kids, Mya, Liam and Emma, even Carl; all expectantly looking at me waiting for me to make a decision; a Greek chorus of guilt and respect, making me feel all the worse, motivating me to take my frustration and self loathing out on the pathetic and disgusting walkers.

I'm at the fence unleashing my rage at the mindless monsters

Get them get them. My bayonet finds an eye, all too similar to the Governor.

Get them get them,splat! Now it finds a skull soft as rotten as eggs.

Get more get more. Now a soft little skull of a young girl cut short by me

Cough cough! Spit! My lungs seize up in the cold air.

More walkers more. I find a sweet old lady rotten before her time now even worms won't come near.

Splat splat, lands a gooey brain. I rack them up. My frustration builds them high.

I finally stop shaking and aching all over. Numb inside at long last-only took an hour, the cold creeping into my skin shivering in the December air under my sheen of sweat and gore. So angry that I want to burn my veins with the hard won narcotics that Skya nearly paid for with her life. I'm furious that I can't control my desires; furious that I feel for her enough to feel guilt at what used to be so natural for me. Scared that I have changed so much that my new found ability to think and feel will cause weakness when I need to react.

I finally finish clearing myself appointed section of fence single handed, the dead losers stacked like cordwood reeking like a morgue in summer. The inner tension is temporarily abated and I smirk to myself enjoying the bad joke; allowing the self deprecating humor that I would beat another's face in for verbalizing. I head back in realizing that I missed the rat stew that Daryl and I so thoughtfully provided. I sure don't mind missing this as I've had to eat rodents far too frequently during my deprived so called childhood.

I ghost in through the door skirting the walls, avoiding the others watching them eat for a moment. I regard them, so easily slipping back into roles that have been theirs before the end of the world. They sit there together getting comfort from the illusion of normalcy, as if the walkers wouldn't dive into their warm blood and flesh at the smallest opportunity. Hershel and Michonne notice me and wave in my direction as I nod back at them before disappearing down the hall like the rat I am. I'm heading to the shower to peel off the stink hopefully relaxing in the arctic blast of the cold water that is far too similar to the chill of the early winter. It gets cold in the south too as I remind Skya. She still sees Georgia as tropical even though she was here last year; she spent it hibernating like a bear, not experiencing much of the cold.

I get to the shower uneventfully and stand in front of the mirror as I one handedly wrestle my filthy disgusting clothing just to notice that I have completely forgot to get a towel or even cleaner clothing. Luckily there is at least soap that I can use. I can wrap my overshirt around my junk assuming I can get the damn thing tied around my waist. Sadly that's a pretty large assumption lately; things still tend to slip out of my gimpy assed off hand grip way more than I'm willing to admit. I peer for a moment in the mirror as I am wrestling out of my sticky blood soaked wife beater and saturated pants covered in foul gore soaked ooze. I sit for a moment hoping stability will improve my ability to peel the sticky shirt from my back to which it unfortunately adhered just out of my reach.

I take a few shuddering breaths as I look up and see myself. I've put a decent amount of weight back on with some increase in muscle, now almost back to my former bulk. My chest still looks uneven where the ribs healed out of alignment, adding a slight tilt to my shoulders, my torso shining white with old scars with the exception of my newest appearing nearly as a angry red eye against my pasty white skin.

My hair is now growing out far more than it has in at least 20 years and I still have a full head of hair, unlike many men of my age. Although there is too much resemblance to a clown-fortunately not red like Skya's, my hair is now turning nearly all grey instead of my usual light brown. My beard has gone from gray to nearly Hershel's white. I swear I was still brown when I left Woodbury; but maybe it's the stress of nearly dying and going through all that pain to heal. Maybe I'm turning into a skinny, mangled, pornographic Santa Claus, reminiscent of Billy Bob Thornton's rendition of "bad Santa" which was back in the day my favorite Christmas movie. I laugh at myself enjoying the mental imagery.

I finally rip the shirt from my back, unfortunately ripping it apart in the process and I cuss to myself being that was my last wife beater; which is the easiest type of shirt to maneuver with two gimpy hands—yes yes I know my bayonet isn't really a hand. That doesn't stop me from remaining right handed. I stand on my pants that are adheared to my skin like walker infested super glue, hopping around like a drunken rabbit bumping into walls and tipping over benches, lying down when my rabbit pogo stick impression is pathetically unsuccessful. Now I inchworm myself out of my pants down to the knees and try to peel myself the rest of the way when I tip over onto the floor stunning myself with a less than helpful face plant. Now I hear footsteps approaching my lily white ass in its not so confident glory.

"Shit Merle you tore the place apart. What are you trying to do?" Carl shakes his head as he takes in the destruction. I sheepishly get myself upright pulling my overshirt onto my lap. "Hey its friendly Jr. Ya want to lend me a hand. Seems there's a shortage round these parts. Might want to ask yer Dad why."

Carl glares at me but he comes in and grabs my pant leg so I can worm my way out of the other peeling in off with my hand.

"Thanks Kiddo" I grumble, hating to appear so vulnerable, but knowing that as quiet as he is, he is unlikely to repeat witnessing me in a gimpy assed crip moment.

"Hey Merle?" The kid looks at me sideways blushing at my nudity

"Yah?"

"You know that my dad feels like hell for what happened to you".

I shake my head sitting back down

"Too little too late little man. Still I can get by this. Yer Dad and the council would be good enough leaders if there weren't psychos out there. He wouldn't be half bad if he weren't out of his damn head sometimes. Still I figure I can help out around here. Keep my Brother and the kids safe"

"What about Skya"?

"Yeah? What about her?"

"She likes you. I see how she watches you."

"Shit kid. I refuse to take sex advice from a sausage slapping pipsqueak. Speaking of which sitting here nekkid spouting hot air ain't gonna get the gore hosed off my carcass before the damn shit dries. Buzz off kid. And keep that shit we jawed about to yer own self"

I turn on the stream of water pissing icicles but fortunately able to scrub the gore off of my body with only a minimal of frustration and several repeats of dropped soap that my limited grip lacked the coordination to contain. Finally I get the job done with less swearing than usual. I exit the shower shivering and dripping glacial water, only to be greeted with no towel, no clean clothes and complete nudity-certainly not on my terms. I sigh and wrap my somewhat less disgusting overshirt over my groin and most of my butt, holding the damn thing closed with my hand, completely failing to get in position to tie it on my left side with one gimpy hand.

I silently approach Hershel's door, having to pass it on my way to my cell. I fully plan to continue to my cell but I halt sliding to a halt and can't go in but can't continue to my cell. I lean my graphically scarred back against the door holding my shirt firmly around my waist, listening to the laughing from the dining area as the Woodbury folks tempt the prison group with yet another round of Scrabble.

They have never seen me play, I smirk to myself remembering my pathetic little brother at 17, just after I had been released from the brig and how I helped him overcome his pathological fear of the printed word. We played strip scrabble. He hated seeing me naked or was it that he hated being naked even in front of me. Now that I think about it I never saw his back, I saw everything else, junk included.

"Well son I never thought I would see you in a kilt. Kind of odd choice of attire to raid my cell don't you think?" Hershel approaches wearing an amused expression.

"What"? I look down seeing dripping boots, skinny furred legs, pitted with cigarette burns. My shirt making a fairly decent cover for my groin but done gone copying a Scotsman's skirt. Kilt? Whatever. I can imagine a quizzical expression appearing on my scruffy face and replacing my defensive stance and my pugnaciously thrust forward uneven jaw.

"You don't think that I missed you nearly drooling on the narcotics earlier. It's no secret about your struggles with addiction. If Daryl haden't told me while we were sewing you back together. I might have given you too much and caused an exacerbation of your addiction to resurface. I still would have picked up on the signs being that I've had my struggles with alcohol. I wanted to see if you would give in to temptation or work through this".

"What is it going to be son? Are you going to throw everything away that you worked for or are you going to move forward and try something new?"

I still can't tolerate being directly challenged "What do you THINK you know old man. I'm just standing here."

"Merle do you really think I'm stupid? My cell is on your way back from the showers. You're standing there mostly naked, shivering and chattering with your stomach growling. You seem to think that I will accept that you're standing there for the heck of it, even you probably can't think of a reason that makes sense. Your wounds are healed, you're wearing your cuff and you wear a much larger size than I do. Come on son spill it. You know no one will understand better than I can"

Hershel guides me inside throwing an old scratchy blanket around my shoulders stemming my shivering.

"Ya got me old man. I was standing there being tempted but go ahead and check I took nothin. I didn't even come in and I ain't going back on the damn drugs. I was actually no longer thinking about drugs I was thinking about a version of strip scrabble that I played with my baby brother all them years ago when he was 17 and finally learning to read. I made him learn to build a word or take off clothing. Do you know he never lost once? I never saw his back. He would even go for a walk mostly naked rather than remove his shirt and at the time I was tweaking a lot. I never even considered that . . . odd"

Hershel sat down on his cot right over where the siren call of the drugs should torment me. But oddly enough now that I'm here I don't even want them. Or rather I want them but I can guide my mind away from forcing my body to take them, destroying all the respect that I worked and bled for. Hershel is laughing at me looking at the ridiculous image of me sitting there shining with scars nearly buck naked on his bed covered in only my shirt and his blanket.

"Might as well let me have a look at your ribs and back since you're naked anyway".

He slides the blanket down my back. He prods my ribs and my raised red scars, pulling at the bottom of my right shoulder blade.

"Feels like it is setting up well and still is pliant. Maybe you need to get some massages to keep the scar from pulling like Skya's scar does. Your ribs feel solid and although they are not aligned they have healed as best as can be expected. I also don't feel any pockets of puss, so I think you're free of infection plus you skin feels cool".

I submit to being poked like the invalid I was not too long ago.

"You're amazing son. I never imagined you could heal this completely as serious as your wounds and that infection was. You have a clean bill of health , just watch your coughing and let me know when it gets worse. A respiratory infection isn't anything to sneeze at if you get my meaning"

Hershel's eyes smirk expectantly and I sigh at my friend, as unwilling as I am to make connections I have to admit he and I have more than one similarity; addiction, being amputees, and having more than a passing familiarity of the good book – thanks to my churchgoing momma.

"The pun was below even your level old man"

_4 hours later while everyone sleeps_

Hours later the noise from the scrabble game dies down and the sheeple make their way back to their cells. I silently ghost through the hallways as I listen to the night noises. Ricks boots clicking as the sleepless man paces, someone sobbing in their sleep, the slap and friction of lovers, I unfortunately recognize Glens grunts way too well, the buzz of battery fueled smut, bearlike snores emanating from some of the old people's cells, night farts and groans of trapped dreamers.

What I don't hear is screaming, the slap of someone getting beaten, groans of pain, hushed arguing. Even in Woodbury I never heard the normalcy sounds of humanity. In my apt building I heard sounds coated in fear and paranoia and suppressed brutality. The lovers I had then left sated but never stayed the night. I've noticed no walks of shame here; no one sneaks back to their cell in the morning. People here feel comfort in each other.

Hershel and I spoke of many things over a backgammon game that he surprisingly pulled out and proved to be an insightful opponent. We spoke mostly of our struggles with addiction and how it ruined our lives, how I never seeked a relationship with others, but was never lonely because I had muted myself with drugs and never needed a human relationship because my chemical lovers had such a strong hold on me.

Still I need very little from others except maybe the complex need for possession of Daryl that hopefully with change into more respect. I can deal with friendship, even knowing that when this community falls, not if but when. I will grab Daryl and run . . . I like and respect Skya and Hershel; I think the kids are cute but possibly a deadly burden. Still I'm not risking my neck and Daryl's, to run back in and rescue them. I might be different but I'm not yet that kind of man. Unless they are near me I'm not going to sacrifice myself saving anyone but Daryl and yet. . .I can see Hershel haunting my lily white ass if I didn't . . . I expect he would be a frustrating ghost to have.

I shake myself out of my thoughts entering my cell and finally changing into some stained but gore free clothing; amused that I spent hours sitting in Hershel's cell dressed as a one handed Scotsman unable to tie his own damn kilt. I settle myself in finally fully clothed for a deep and exhausted sleep. Mya's and Liam's faces loom inside my head with Daryl's, bruised beaten childhood face. I wake up hearing the infuriated growl of a mother dog protecting her young; as my half asleep body gets up restless and ambles back down the hall without shoes, cuff or firearm only a knife attached to my belt. I end up entering Skya's cell. I watch her sleep mumbling, on her injured arm wearing my splint and sling that rubbed me so annoyingly.

I cover her up again and as I see her shrink away from my touch in her sleep; I sink to the floor next to her bunk, listing to the soft snorts of her kids and the slightly louder groans as she sleeps leaning on her newly broken arm. I help her turn onto her back off of her arm, she sighs patting my arm with her good arm and smiles in her sleep furrowing her brow, mumbling; " I miss you so. I never knew how much I loved you John. Don't haunt the kids"

I smile to myself thinking how much she loves even the ghost of her dead husband, how in sleep, even with a broken bone she is still very much a protector and I have to respect that instinct as it mirrors my own. I feel sleep taking me over and curl up in her extra blanket as I lean on the edge of her cot absorbing her warmth listening to the comforting sigh of her sad but peaceful dreams, envying her a little.

Now + 5 minutes

I struggle awake in Skya's cell being shaken by Mya and Liam.

_Mya and Liam both shush me. "Merle you're snoring and yelling; you're going to wake Momma. Why did you sleep sitting next to her bed anyway? Did you get lost? Don't you know your cell is down the hall a little"?_

Dumb kids I guess they have never known a sleepwalker before. I have the dubious talent for sleeping wherever and however I land. I have a long history of odd choices for sleeping: waking up under tables, in corners, in yards, once in a tree, occasionally on the steps of someone's porch. However I do sleep lightly and unfortunately wake up explosively at times. Their young voices must have cued my normally clueless subconscious that the kids were not endangering me.

I take in Skya's form moaning in her sleep and I see a sheen of sweat and an unaccustomed pallor under her numerous freckles. I touch her and feel the heat of infection brewing; she opens her eyes smiles at me with the light of fever in her eyes.

"Hey Merle what do you need"

I rest my hand on her face.

"You're brewin' a storm sweet nips. Yer hot girl and not just because of yer benefits that I need to see more of. I don't like how sick you're gettin' Ya got me sleep walking over to ya."

I flash back with a complete role reversal to the many times at night bathed in sweat struggling with my inner hell, she stroked my skin, smoothed my 'fro and whispered that I was not alone that I was safe and would feel better soon. She helped me shift off of my broken parts when I rolled too far in bed, helped me up to the bathroom or fed me when I was too shaky. Little parts of those missing weeks come back bit by bit, initiated by the heat under my hand and the worry in the two small faces peering over the side of their cots.

I stretch my shoulders feeling my aching misaligned ribs grind into place as I lever myself off of the floor and out of my uncomfortable nest.

She rests a hand on my face "Merle are you telling me that you-a heartless old land pirate . . . care remotely about little old me? Your compliments just slay me . . .So sophisticated"

She can't go any further as she starts helplessly laughing, snorting and crying at the mental image only she can see.

I shake my aching head mumbling about going to see Hershel for some drugs; she is so obviously out of her head. Usually she displays a grumpy front especially around me and Rick. But I see how kind she can be to those who are vulnerable. Yet today she actually touched my face if only briefly with tenderness, the only other time she showed me that side was the several times we scratched an itch together, bumping uglies, whatever.

I wince with a brewing headache and she looks at me cocking her head like a dog. "You okay Merle? Your face says that you're hurting. Her hand reaches out and pats my side gently."

I grab her hand and rub the back with my thumb only fumbling a little in my uncoordinated grasp, as she smiles.

"I'm getting Hershel for you. Ya need to take better care of yerself Sweetness" – I like how that nickname sounds exactly like 'SweetNips' if pronounced exactly wrong.

"Alrighty, Captain Hook"

She chortles drunk on fever as I leave her cell chuckling to myself actually liking the name and amused at the sarcastic duality of her newest nickname. Sweet she is not but can be if she chooses. But having tasted the glory of her perfect tits and delicious nipples; I can't peel my mind away from loving the sight of her breasts no matter how covered or not. A boob man I am and forever will be to my dying day and most likely well after. A boob loving ghost I most likely will be. I smirk to myself enjoying the juvenile humor as always. I arrive at Hershels's cell in the budding winter dawn.

"Get yer ass up peg leg, Skya needs some of those drugs I wanted so badly yesterday. She's brewin' a gawdawful damn fever and she needs ya old man"


	43. Rewind

Whew its been a long time. Sorry peeps I couldn't write because I couldn't sit for long enough to write. I played too hard and got broken. Now I'm healed and my back can stand to sit. Trigger alert. graphic PTSD courtesy of Merle. Multiple racial nicknames and slurs also courtesy of my favorite rude redneck. Of Skyas potty mouth and the other OCs. Please review and give me some constructive criticism, It means more than you know of course I love follows and favs. My love for my followers thanks for sticking with me and my weird little (yeah right) story. enjoy.

Michonne

The air smells of frost and my breath reminds me of blowing icicles at my boy. The echo of his baby giggles leading me to tearful wakefulness. I still haven't spoken his name aloud. A year and a half ago I was a young mother with the best days ahead of her. Then the mysterious flu came and we hurriedly left home and went to the refugee center. I left my son's side to look for supplies for such a short time and my boyfriend the cowardly asshole that he was couldn't protect him because he was stoned- again. I died inside and without a thought ended the two bastards that failed so spectacularly in protecting the only life that mattered – Andre.

I still hear his laugh in the frost, the rain and the lightning bugs. The ridiculous stories I made up for him echo in my brain. My boy will always be an innocent. He will never grow up watching others die so violently. Never forgetting the fact that they were once irreplaceable to someone, maybe they have a son or daughter that is missing them this morning. More likely their loved ones are starring as the feast of the multitude of bug life that must soon reduce even the walkers to their basic components.

I smile as I pass the scrabble game still set up. The Woodbury sheeple had another boring game last night. I look at the results F-o-o-d across. Surprisingly next to it is O-R-G-Y down from the O. Who the hell was playing I wonder? Merle isn't much the joining sort but that is something he might come up with. I smile. D-A-N-G across ending on the G . . . A good description of any day about now. And S-A-I-D down. Could also be Maggie or Glen, they tend to be more people pleasers than Merle with his dirty minded style but less willing to admit it. I can't imagine it coming from the prudish Woodbury folks, still living in their fake Mayberry in their heads.

They mean well but they won't last long, they gotta find their grit but I don't think they will, maybe some of the younger ones like Zack and Karen but not the older "church lady/ PTO types. They as sooner hide their heads in the sand even if it leaves their asses exposed. Now I'm trying to figure it out D-O-R-C. Misspelling of DORK? Also R-A-C-K, and d-I-C-K highly suspect in the company of the other words. I will have to find out who was playing last night. I smirk to myself remembering how Andre may have been conceived following an innocent game of scrabble gone bad. Mike had extra special brownies that night and I had one before I knew what the unusual ingredient was. The Scrabble game degenerated into filthy words and equally suspect sexual acts.

I get my mind back onto the day thinking that we need to go back to the nursing home to clean out the kitchen supplies. I look up to Hershel and Merle with their heads together talking softly as they slowly make their way back toward Skya's cell. I'm thinking that it's about time that Merle gets out there again. He let me go and I helped Daryl bring him back thinking that he would die sooner than later. Surprisingly he lived and healed but still is not back to his capacity. I am so deep into my thoughts that I don't hear Rick coming up behind me, his tell tale boots clumping their way down the hall.

"Scrabble fan?" Rick drawls as he comes up behind me snorting at how he caused me to jump.

"Actually yes if I'm playing with people who can actually spell and have a insightful usage of the English language." I smirk looking at the misspelled word.

"I take it you didn't play much at Woodbury?" His eyes twinkle at his obvious attempt to get a rise out of me.

I circle around him, hands on my hips gathering my thoughts. Merle is always a touchy subject with Rick, polar opposites but similar in impulsivity and their history of rage induced stupidity.

"Now Rick I know you are too smart to seriously think that –I wanted to talk to you about going back to the nursing home. There is a wealth of food in the kitchens from what Skya told me; lots of canned and powdered stuff, would really help supply us for the rest of the winter. They served in bulk and its out of the way."

"Who were you planning on taking?" Rick squints at me as his blue eyes catch the morning sun.

"You want me to take Merle off your hands? He hasn't been on a real run since he was injured and Skya and I put down a good number of the walkers already; so we can do it just the two of us."

"You can take almost anyone else and you choose Merle –why?"

"He hasn't been on a run lately and he and I work well enough together. He let me go and he didn't have to. He also has a lot of energy that needs to burn. I know how that feels. It's time he gets out there now that he is healed"

Rick shakes his head "I seriously doubt that anyone understands Merle but Merle. I don't think even he knows why he does what he doe; he said as much. Why don't you and I go? And take Merle with us?"

I smirked "Do you value your own life so little? I think Merle will be fine with me. And I owe him for letting me go. I won't dredge up the past. But it was him that came to his senses without anyone forcing him into it."

Rick cocks his head in annoyance

"So you pity him? Why? He has a long history of treating people like crap especially those that he should treat well."

"Not pity, Rick respect. He was hurt worse than anyone here and he survived, I respect his grit"

Rick shakes his head still distrustful of the temperamental man. I watched Merle joking with Hershel near Skya's cell and noted that he every so often turned his head to track Rick's and my movements. Looks like the pissing contest is still going on; two alpha males trying to be on the same side but still both suffering from testosterone poisoning.

Damn fools! Looks like Rick's attention is on the other rutting bull and I'm talking to myself.

"Rick? Are you listening?" I have to shake his sleeve so he turns his greasy flea-bitten head away from his silent challenge with Merle. His amusement with himself is obvious as he nods to my statement.

"I'm going to take him. I need someone who is good with locks, machinery and weapons."

I put my hand on Rick's arm and catch his gaze seeing his squint of concern.

"Rick I value your friendship so trust me on this. He seems different. That man has changed since I met him. I will be FINE with him"

I walk away from Rick who is rubbing his arms walking the opposite direction glancing behind at me as he begins to call for his son. Carl then pokes his head over the upper railing with Judith perched on his hip, in a shawl, like a sleepy turkey.

As I approach, Merle swivels around from his conversation with Hershel and Skya's kids. He puts his foot up on the door jamb leaning on the other side tightening the straps on his prosthetic and clumsily screwing in his blade.

"So Nubia I guess you have the pleasure of ol' Merle all to yourself today. Skya y'all don't worry about her I'll save some for you tonight sweetnips."

I notice that a roll of overstretched ace wrap bounces off his head the Velcro catching in his curls, not preventing his thick hair from standing up in every direction with the side he slept on still looking matted.

"You do know the prison carries sound don't ya . You and yer officer had quite the conversation 'bout me, heartwarming how he still doubts me. As if his opinion means fuck all; as if he sees anything 'cept what he wants to see . . . Shit whatever".

Skya is sitting on the bunk wrapping the splint onto her injured left arm smiling mischievously at me.

"Wish I could go but I've got one sore butt cheek. I don't think I need a matched pair. Besides I can help Hershel with check ups and do some mending. Oh yay"

She shakes her head chuckling at herself as she helps Merle untangle his hair from the ace wrap.

Merle shrugs her off looking me in the eye.

"I take it ya plan on a run back to the old folks' home? Whatcha after? It better be good if I'm gonna risk having my ass chewed on by a walker with dentures."

He's straightens his too big t shirt, pulling on his straps. Running his hand over his hair shaking his head.

"Right Nubia guess ya gone all mute again. Seemed ta been talking just fine ta Rick? Whatcha got planned for yer run?"

I have to say a perverse side of me enjoys watching Merle stew in his juices. Being a nosy sonofabitch; he always has to know what's going on and be involved in the action; an interesting dichotomy to his brother who prefers observing before involving himself. Skya as always can be counted on to speak up.

"Merle there is tons of food in nursing homes made from concentrate and some of it has to be bulk order. It's long lasting stuff like any institution has to have. It's a small building no more than 70 beds, built with two wings. Michonne and I didn't have a chance to target the kitchen too. I don't think many people would think of looking for food there."

"Ya I'll go. I can't have couple of little women showing me up. You'll be okay on yer lonesome Gimp? Try not to poke yerself in the ass again."

Skya can be counted on to try to get the last word in. They circle each other getting closer without realizing it until they appear to be mixing morning breath.

"Right Merle you just wanted to hear yourself call me Gimp" She snorts looking at her arm protected by the splint, and levered herself to her feet addressinng her kids.

"All right kiddos were going to work on some lessons and then you're going to get the undeniable pleasure of holding stuff for me while I mend your clothing. That will teach you to rip your stuff up. Then we are going to make duct tape shirts since you have already outgrown the other ones"

Liam and Mya roll their eyes at the work ahead groaning as one.

"Y'all keep that up someone might mistake ya for a walker" Merle shakes his head and starts walking toward the exit of the cellblock. "Mind if I drive Nubia"?

"Only if you can figure out what my real name is Fishbelly" I grin at his snort and let him walk ahead of me to his cell, bellowing behind him that he will meet me at the vehicles after he gets his weaponry.

I meander to the vehicles thinking too deeply, watching him as he gets ahead of me, his eager pace contrasting his degrading joking manner. I watch him walk seeing his shoulders now slightly uneven as if some of his bones healed badly; noting him rolling his shoulders while he moves. I find that I look forward to spending time with the aggravating rude redneck, he is direct and upfront to a fault and I find that a refreshing contrast to Rick's quietly assertive manner. Considering both alpha males I find I respect them in different ways and find them likable too. I'm pleased that Merle is working his way into our community, finding people who he can get along with, no longer the outsider at risk of being kicked out.

"Nubia! Ya comin' or not the sunlight won't wait fer ya to get yer thumb outta yer ass!"-

Merle

I lean against the car picking my finger nail with the tip of my prosthetic, considering that the last time I operated a car was when I impulsively attacked the Governor. I snort shaking my head thinking how I ignored every bit of my military training as a sniper. I should have waited for the chaos to work for me and shot him first while I had the surprise, then cleanup his misguided henchmen. I remember how I ironically was considered his "right" hand man along with Martinez. Interestingly not one of them hesitated to attempt to knock my nose to the back of my skull. I look at the forest beyond the prison walls and for a minute feel as though I'm being watched, the hairs rising on the back of my neck. I feel that I might have seen something so briefly that my subconscious can't even place it. I wonder if I'm playing games in my mind but the warning is clear and I didn't survive in the Marines by ignoring my instincts.

I hop in the car trusting the metal to obstruct the view of whoever was lining up a shot. It is clear that I need to watch the area around the prison more carefully for movements. This may be the first sign of the Governor returning to finish the job. I roll my uneven shoulders stretching the tense muscles within breathing deeply while I watch the black ninja approach. I remember our road trip that final fateful day. She slides in silently with her breath fogging up the inside of the car. She watches my every move considering how I have to adapt even something as simple as turning a key in the car with my limited grasp. I thread my hand through the wheel to reach the keys dangling and turn them wrong handedly. I stare at her raising an eyebrow and she snorts adding more mist to the inside of the car, her braids gently swaying as she gestures to the dusty dirt road.

"You will find a turn off to the left about twenty minutes away from the Prison. Follow it for about a half hour and you will see an old broken down parish. The nursing home is just beyond it but hidden behind a line of trees."

I regard her for a minute before starting down the road

"Ya know I don't think I ever said thank you for hauling my perforated ass back to the prison. I'm still not sure if I'm happy about being alive. I'm sure as shit that if ya ever let Skya get hurt out there or poke her in the ass again; I'm gonna rip yer pretty dreds off and tie yer ass to a walker just fer fun"

She raises one eyebrow at me her smile lighting up her face, enjoying our ongoing insult competition.

"Seems like a tall order Merle. I would really like to know how you are going to tie me being that your boots are never tied and your shirt is never buttoned."

Then I unpredictably explode as I'm taken by the red rage instigated by her casual referance to my limitations and I'm even surprised by the force of my irate obscenity filled bawling. She has the grace to at least look surprised at my hair trigger temper making its abrupt appearance.

"No! You don't get to look at me like that; like I'm a cripple and someone else has to do shit for me like helping me get dressed. I might be mutilated and I know I'm fucked up ta look at but don't ever make the mistake that I'm incapable of something; far from it ya stupid cotton picker bitch"

I can feel my face go bright pink under my pasty Irish skin

". . .Ya think I haven't figured out why I got chosen to go with you? I'm not stupid Nubia. I know ya gotta give the crippled man some purpose; something he can do well even with one mangled hand. . ."

My stomach beginning the pre flashback flips the buzz of my rage drowning out her outraged yelling into my face as result of may anger filled racial slurs. I continue without even noticing her anger

". . . I heard ya talking to Rick that I need to get used ta shit again. Like I'm green or something. Like I can't figure this shit out on my own. Like I haven't already done it once. So shut up for a while and leave me the hell alone. Ya really done pissed me off. I need to cool the fuck down."

I hate that look, the sideways sliding away of the eyes to rest on my reddened uneven scorched remains of my right arm; covered and protected by my weaponized cuff. It was hacked off above the wrist that I had crushed to saw through quickly and get free. I WAS brain fried from drugs that day, but had I waited, I would have probably died from heat stroke anyway.

And I put the beat up carcass of the SUV into drive as I begin to flash back yet again wishing my brain didn't torment me this way. . .I return to that broiling rooftop the coke burning through my veins making me into far more of an asshole than even I can be usually. Ricks group, MY group abandons me and for once Daryl is unable to save me. I cry and scream to the heavens living in a hell of my own creation.

It makes me sick to relive that day; to know that just thinking about it will send me spiraling into a horrifying flashback with all my senses tormenting me: to relive the sound of the saw scraping against my bones, the feeling of the tendons recoil into my arm as they were sliced through, the raw ends of my nerves sending lightning through me as they were torn open. The nauseating sight of the crushed exposed bones of my wrist. The sickening splat of my hand falling into my own blood.

Staggering away from my hand abandoned, useless on a rooftop, silently calling me back, an odd balance to me walking away from Daryl all those years ago equally determined to fend for myself. I found a stove after beating two walkers' heads in while bleeding to death. The smell will never leave me.

The smell of me being the cooked meat, the sizzling of my skin like bacon. My arm smelling like venison in the fire, my too empty stomach grumbling by reflex. The shrill scream of agony burns my throat making way for the bile from my insides reacting to the depth of disgust at my reflexive animal nature.

I wandered in shock for days after I crashed the truck in a drugged out/blood loss haze; numbed by the drugs I found in the pharmacy I raided, starving because I was too weak to hunt and I couldn't manage a can opener one handed. I became as brainless as a walker wandering in a senseless numbed state, coming to life only to protect myself. I was ignored by walkers due to the smell of my rotting infected arm and covered in a miasma of collected gore. I finally wandered to the mouth of hell, but the sign said Woodbury.

I collapsed a half mile out. I lived in hell doing the bidding of the devil, reminded how I had been saved cleaned up my stump surgically realigned with another couple of inches removed to just below my wrist. My drug withdrawal had been worse than the self amputation in the long run. But as the coke and meth burned out of my veins and my head was clear for the first time since just after the military; since I had realized that with no GED and a dishonorable discharge, a life as a dealer is all I could have.  
As bad as I had been before it pales in comparison to what I did now. The Governor could be counted on to always remind me that I could have been left to become the walker I had been slowly turning into.

The road comes to an end at stately old line of oaks giving the impression that there is nothing here except perhaps the shell of an ancient plantation returning to the earth and harvested by Georgia's insistent insect life. I observe the land around the tiny nursing home tucked away at the end of the narrow country road, hidden by the statuesque ancient trees that probably watched over this land when a plantation stood here. Quiet. No walkers, no survivors. It's as if time forgot about this corner of Georgia.

Michonne puts her hand on my prosthetic and gently shakes me back to reality.

"Merle you've turned white and you're sweating are you OK?"

I blink thankfully as she rescues me from the torments of my waking nightmare, only to plunge me into the reality of the geriatiric denture wearing pre-wrinkled walkers. How is a denture bite different than one with their own teeth. Sounds like a question that Milton would have loved to consider. HMMMM?


	44. Bloody Bingo and Hermit Crabs

Of BINGO &amp; Hermit crabs

"Merle, Heads up!"

I look up at her blinking coming slowly back to reality.

"Yeah. Yeah. Don't get yer panties in a bundle Nubia"

We slowly drive around the little building, its two wings spreading in opposite directions from the center just as Skya said. Michonne motions to me as I shake my head clear of the cobwebs from the flashback.

"She said it would be right in the middle near the front doors. We can go into the kitchen and avoid attracting attention from the ones in the dining room."

I just looked at her and pointed with my chin toward the doors.

"Just so were clear. We grab the food then hit the maintenance room to get tools and shit. No fucking around no talking. Don't mess with them if it ain't necessary. Keep yer damn shish-ka-bob poker away from my ass."

She smirked at me and raised an eyebrow at me before turning back to the pathetic little building.

"Just don't be doing any of your noisy ass stupid shit. Just worry about yourself. You won't even know Im there if I don't want you to.

OOOwhee girl! I sure like getting a rise out you. HA! I knew there was a heart beating in that black ice exterior.

I pulled the car up and left the door slightly ajar pulled my backpack from the back seat and checked my gun for ammo, made sure that I had extra in my chest pocket.

All right girlie ya ready to crack some heads!?

I ran to the front door shaking it hard to get an idea of activity within. I then slide against the outside wall to check out the walkers in the dining room. Looking in the window; I count 8-10 of the most wretched looking walkers I've seen in a while. They are aimlessly smashing their faces up against the windows as I trace a pattern with my blade, quietly laughing to myself. The bunch of them resembles a school of hungry goldfish mouthing the top of the river when they see people passing by.

Nubia finally gets the hint and slides into the door like a silent ninja shadow. I take a blood stained rag that I had removed from Skya's cell and fumble it into what passes for a loose knot near the window to keep them drawn away from the hallway and the doors. I bang the window gently with my bayonet cuff to make sure the fish are ready to try to feed; then I skirt to the door. My nose is prickling with the combination of dust, death and bodily fluids sprayed around the hall as if from a sprinkler; my eyes narrow in the sudden gloom of the neglected hallway.

Nubia nods to me shaking her ratty braids at the door next to the kitchen. I note a crowbar holding the door closed a bloody message reading LOST! &amp; HOPE! On each door no doubt warning the clueless sheep away. I pull out my pistol and nod my readiness to her as she slips inside of the double doors of the kitchen driving a wheelchair as I bring my silenced pistol up over my cuff readying myself to splatter rotten brains beyond the braided one.

I surge ahead my heart pounding in my chest, my new scars on back and front throbbing as bookends to my heart. I take aim at the snarling stinking walkers trapped in the office of the kitchen as Nubia rummages for the keys to the supplies. The closest walker surges up to meet me as I point my pistol in the air and slice and dice her with my bayonet feeling the muscles stretch and pull in my still too sensitive stump.

I welcome the pulling as a natural part of regaining strength in my weaker right side. I'm feeling my brain spin apart and rejoin itself as it dawns on me that it's been a full 3 months since the last time Nubia and I went on our misguided road trip. The natural ebb and pull as both my arms are able to work together holding all 4 of the walkers off as Nubia hoards the best of the supplies into her rickety beat to shit wheelchair so she can then unload into our equally piece of shit SUV. The blackened tar slime of the rotten foul blood coats the floor as I eliminate them one by one.

"How's that for a health code violation. Let me help you with yer fucking hair net, ya kitchen skank. I think were gonna shut this shit down but permanently."

Now I stab another through the ears

". . . cause yer cooking ain't worth a fuck all."

I ease her to the floor as I continue to mumble my typical litany of one sided insults. Michonne stops for a moment, than smiling as she realizes what I'm doing. I nonchalantly flick a glob of slime in her direction with my blade. She ducks effortlessly as I chuckle silently when she glares at me as if she could launch a fireball at me with her angry glinting chocolate eyes. I love getting a rise out of her almost as much as I do with Skya.

Of course that just rewards me, now my overactive mind rewinds to the food fight scene in animal house."Humph" I snort thankful that my overactive imagination isn't apparent to anyone but myself.

I have always been inappropriately amused. I've never found the right things humorous. Slimy walker goo resembling a jello and jam fight is just letting me know that my flashback ridden demented brain is finally rebooting into the present.

"THANK GAWD" I mumble way too loud

Michonne obviously can't believe her ears as I don't realize that I just spoke out loud as she hushes me with a sound like an angry snake

"SSSHHH!"

I swivel in her direction as she packs the wheelchair full of stale old folks' food. I focus a steel blue glare in her direction and ram my knife hand up through the last kitchen bitch's jaw perforating her rotten slimy brain continuing to glare at Michonne the entire time.

"You had something to say? Dark chocolate?"

She glares back and holds my glare with two bags of food in her hands, and then she cocks her head.

"Are you going to stop this stupid shit, pasty ass hick and are we going to get something useful done?

I snort and point my chin toward the beat up wheelchair full of food. "Did ya get one for me? Don't quite seem fair otherwise."

"I need you covering my ass Merle."

"Come on girl we need to make better use of this shit."

I eyed the stacked cases of tomato sauce and noodles, flour and tuna fish. Things made to last for years even in the end of the fucking world.

I strode to the kitchen doors and thrust it open into the dining room with my bayonet holding it open with my hand as I flip a ravenous snarling grandma out of her befouled wheelchair. I thrust my knife through her skinny little skull as she growled and tried to bite my ankle.

I look around and immediately start shaking as I take in the sights and drag the rabid granny tied to her wheelchair in with me. I almost unable to maintain control as I collapse into the door jamb as some of the other ravenous bingo players attack the doors.

"Shit woman, time to go to your last BINGO in the sky. Hopefully you won't try to gnaw on them if they call the wrong number."

"What the HELL! Merle?"

Michonne whispers angrily sotto voce as I stand there shaking with the tears of unbelievable black humor

I slide down to a sitting position, holding the doors closed before I wedge them closed with a soup ladle.

"Ya ain't never gonna believe this shit"

Michonne grabs my sleeve and begins hauling me back to my feet

"Focus Merle are you on drugs again or something?"

I nudge her and point through the crack of the door

"Look out there black beauty whadda see?"

She peers through the door "Merle you're talking crazy. What bullshit are you pulling?"

"BINGO. Girl they were playing BINGO when it happened and they ate the Bingo caller. This shit is just too damn crazy to be made up"

We finish loading the best of the nonperishable food and add in all the sharp knives and some of the more sturdy pots and pans.

I shake my head clear of the ridiculous scene of Bingo gone bad. I cover Michonne as she backs the two wheel chairs out to the hallway. I guess we were louder than I thought because I had to dispatch some moldy scrub covered walkers. I keep up my usual commentary.

"Come on ugly, ya got a stain on yer cute lil' nurses suit. Gotcha!"

"Ya keep yer morning breath to yer self. Damn ya stink worse than my lil' brother".

Splat right through the mouth.

"Damn Grandma didn't they get ya dressed? All yer wearing is a see through rag and rotten smile"

Right through her chin.

I make sure they keep listening and watching me as Michonne backs her way out of the front door. I'm breathing hard completely disregarding my damaged lung struggling to keep up with my exertion as slime drips from my cuff and bayonet and the adrenalin surges higher and higher in my veins.

One by one they go down like bowling pins, my weaker right arm and ribs are pulsating but I don't slow down until the front door bumps me in the butt and Michonne pulls me back out by my belt.

"Come on Merle stop messing with them we're done"

She then wedges the door closed again, and writes NO GOOD on the door with the tip of her sword.

Sweat is pouring off my face and back and stinging my eyes but I feel good even if I'm sore. I look at her and point to the car with my chin.

I help Michonne toss the boxes in the rear of the car. I notice that carrying boxes is no longer my best skill. I grumble to myself under my breath and target the smaller boxes that fit my grip better.

"For Fuck Sake!"

Michonne stops and regards my sore arms and nods to herself before continuing. She learned from my earlier outburst to let me struggle on my own unless I ask for help. I want the respect given to anyone. I smirk back to her acknowledging her understanding.

Finally done I lean on the vehicle breathing hard my healing lung struggling to catch its air. I get inside and take some breaths.

" Lets-get-the tools- and shit. It's- around- back-hidden. Doesn't-look-fancy-for-visitors. You-drive"

By the time were in back I'm renewed breathing wise anyway.

I get out leaving my door ajar just like Michonne does. I notice the shiny metal mobile that Skya left on the earlier trip bumping the outside of the smaller dining/card room. The walkers are still gathered at the windows like fish. Whenever the breeze bumps it into the windows, it attracts their attention with its noise. I shake my head yet again amused by the cleverness of Lil Miss Klutzy.

I walk around the back and find the maintenance door, carefully looking at the simple lock.

"Humph, maybe with an extra hand. Shit. Fucking psycho bastards can't even pick a damn lock without a fucking party."

I walk back to the main back door and peer through as walkers try to drag themselves over to me. I see the connecting door to the maintenance through the nurses' desk and nod to myself.

I dig in the front seat in my bag for my lock picking tools and hate to the bottom of my gray layered soul what has to come out of my mouth next.

"Let's pull around. I'm gonna try to pick that lock but I'm gonna need to borrow yer hands. Mine are somewhat lacking in digits."

I read the surprise warring with sadness in her eyes as she is about to comment. I feel redness starting in the tips of my ears thankfully hidden under my too long hair.

"Stop that shit! Don't make a big deal of it or I'll never ask ya again!"

Michonne being a good reader of people gets it the first time, she successfully schools her features and silently nods

"Come on girl let's do this"

She puts the vehicle back into drive and parks as close as she can

I get my tools out and we stand nose to nose at the lock. I smell the sour smell of her dreds and she no doubt drinks in my delightful unbrushed teeth and miasma of walker gore.

I guide her hands to hold my tools precisely to brace the insides of the lock as I try to nudge the lock mechanism. Oh the wonders of the convict education system to be had in prison. I ask her to shift her fingers this way and that and am rewarded by the soft pop as the mechanism finally slides out of the way and opens the door. I bang on it firmly with my clanking metal cuff and am gratified to hear only a few growls.

"Ready to feed that thing jelly again?" I nod at her glorious katana. "Sure ya won't let me borrow it foe ol' times sake?"

"Once is more than enough old man" she smiles sweet mischief, almost as good as her klutzy new partner in crime, Skya.

She saunters past me slicing the first through the eye, then silently reversing with her body weight and cutting the next one through the jaw leaving only one for me. I snarl as I jab him through the cheekbone into the too soft skull.

"Time for yer nap Gomer!"

We drag them out of the way stacking them like cordwood so we can get to ol' Gomer's bounty of mechanics. I dig clumsily in tools and find my new favorite; vises and clamps of all shapes and sizes. It's Christmas morning for a one handed mechanic/hunter. I pile tools, clamps, wiring, nuts, bolts and nails, crowbars, some metal repair sheeting, and the most bountiful of all; a dolly with several small and hopefully repairable generators.

Clunk! Michonne drops a heavy drawer of parts next to her foot and grumbles some particularly foul cuss words for her reserved self.

I laugh "Now I KNOW you've been spending too much time with Skya"

Thud! Thud!

"Damn black beauty I think gramps turned his hearing aid up"

Gomer knew the end was here and he had just replaced the generator outside but didn't get rid of the old ones. He was just about to hunker down and make himself at home before the end of the world came personally for him. I even grab his old calendar which is turned to April 2012, the month I turned 50. April 6 was on Friday that year. A day I spent traveling bar to bar with my biker friends watched over protectively by my brother who no doubt was hoping that I would pass out before I brought trouble and cops down on us both. Who me?

It was also coincidently the month before the world fell to shit and I lost my right hand when I was left for dead. Gomer and I would have gotten along just fine. He liked Playboy too and I smile at the titty of the month. I flinch in surprise when I feel a slap on the back of my head as I look up into an irate dredlocked face ready to tear my head off.

"You can ogle on your own time, Dumbass. You better pack it in old man I got the first box in the truck already and those walkers are going to knock their way through that other door any time. Now stop the damn fool shit and let's get moving"

"That's a freebie Nubia; I may be a pretty as an angel but I sure as hell ain't one."

Slam! Slam slam.

The door falls through as the piling up of geriatric walkers attempt to come through all at once. They must have heard the rattle of machinery as we were digging through parts and Michonne dropping shit. I tip over a desk and foul up the access of the door to the nursing area. I stab several in unison, as the walkers struggle to get through. I stab the last who crawls though with a wheelchair attached to his butt; looking for all the world as a bloodthirsty formerly human hermit crab, crawling forward to scavenge a fresh meal.

We finish backing our way through with me tipping over whatever I could and Michonne pulling the dolly with the generators and stacks of clamps and metal to the car."

I slam into the door with my remaining hand and push it with my body weight as she struggles to brace the door and jam the lock.

It finally is secured then we struggle to lift the generators and the boxes of tools into the hatch. I get back to the front seat as I start shaking from the day's exertion. She gets in the seat and looks at a particularly angry bruise on the back of my good hand.

I was too full of adrenalin to realize what I had done to myself. Now I start shaking as I watch my sound wrist and numb finger stubs swell and become purple. I extend and bend the joints where I am able. My heart rate begins to even out as I realize that indeed is just a bruise, not a boxer's fracture, but still a reality check that I can't ignore.

The anger of my shear fucked all reality of my current existence having to prove my worth again to myself as well as to the others. Not so many years ago I would have crawled fetal like into a deep dark hold in the company of my two favorite lovers; Coke and Meth. The all too familiar monkey on my back tries to saddle me up again. I shake it off considering: I feel it like another of my scars.

I know I will always feel it just as the scar on my stomach still stretches and catches after a lifetime, like the scars on my back draw attention even after decades. I am changed even if no one else notices, but I certainly won't announce it. 'I'm no longer a complete asshole. I don't give in to the temptation of drugs. I don't listen to a psychopath any longer.' Some words will never pass my lips. The pussiness of admitting those painful truths will pierce me more thoroughly than the gunshot wound. Even before the world ended how many years did I lose to the haze, how much more I could have had.

Now even though the run Michonne and I come back from is a resounding success. I have to realize that I'm never going to be Merle the invincible ever again. My little brother was right, I absolutely do need people. I have to be careful of my remaining hand and digits. If I break them or god forbid lose any more I'm just as crippled as that old walker crawling along like a hermit crab. He at least could grab onto stuff. I'm limited in that way even though I make up for it by stabbing shit and kicking it with my Aikido moves.

I watch Michonne out of the corner of my eye as she glances at me rubbing my hand against my leg ineffectively. It's frustrating that I will have to wait for someone else to fix it for me. I turn my thoughts to the feelings of being watched as we left the prison. I will get Daryl or Michonne to help me look for signs. I know they are there. I know that it's time to get ready for our move outta the prison. It's time to get Daryl and whoever he wants to bring, ready to bug out. Maybe help him find that pretty little grey Mouse of his.

Another reason for me to hate PRick, he didn't even give her the chance to explain herself. Like I told him when he told me to hand over Michonne, he's cold. He just left her to die, just like he did to me; judge, jury and executioner, the crazy ass cop; Officer unfriendly. He didn't even consider asking the damn council. Just left her to thrive or die, but something tells me Daryl will see her again. Like a mushroom that grows in shit, that little mouse has some very particular skills of her own and just as deadly.

I'm forming a plan as the prison looms up in front of me. We tear up the road as those on the gate stab the walkers out of the way and open the gate up as we slow to a halt. I get out of the car and scan the woods around the prison, again feeling uncomfortable. I know someone is there watching, planning. Maybe it's the Governor and maybe it's not. If they had good intentions we would have known by now. I hop back in and pull the beat up vehicle closer so we can unload under cover. I remind myself that I can't help. I have to get care for my damn beat up hand and probably be subjected to a lecture.

I lean against the wall watching them unload my treasures and not being able to help I feel pretty gimpy. I notice Mya has found me and pulls on my hand causing me to wince before I can control the reaction

"You're hurt Mr. Merle"

"Nah just a bruise. I'll do.

I found some food for y'all"

"Really? Did you find pizza? I love pizza do you?

I snort and smirk at her shaking my head.

"Mya. I need to find your Mother. Where is she?"

"She's finishing Liam's, bite proof jacket"

"Liam's what?"

Momma makes jackets out of duct tape, especially the neck and arms. She also makes us wear tall boots. So they can't eat us as easily"

Hummph" I'm impressed again by her clever but odd thinking. I follow Mya up to Skya's cell realizing that my pulse is speeding up for no reason. It can't be the lecture I'm expecting. I sure ain't afraid of no bitch. Not even a clever one with nice juicy tits and a mouth that is naughty and mischievous as it is adventurous. I tweak my fingers into a fist to focus on the bruise and away from the pussy ass thoughts that are sure as hell gonna complicate shit when this cockroach feast falls apart and we have to run for our lives.

I flex my hand as I trudge upstairs with the feeling I am being watched. I watch the watcher as I climb the stairs my heavy boots clanking.

Skya leans against the doorway of her cell doodling on her arm splint then stretches her back thrusting her chest out at me her juicy tits perky and encouraging my erection. She smiles saucily as I reach her cell.

"Am I still too gimpy for you"? She smirks at me.

I just snort at her taking her in. I smell her ripe body odor and it kicks the horniness up a notch. I consider that as complicated as she makes things. A pair of juicy tits and a warm moist peach may be a complication that I can get used to during the end of the world. She smiles up at me a few inches shorter her auburn hair glinting in the afternoon light.

"What did you manage to injure this time?"

"Not so bad Sweetnips, just a bruise. I'll do. I just need the swelling down. Ain't getting anything accomplished by working on myself"

"She raised her head sharply to look me in the eye before she lowers it again to inspect my bruised hand"

"UMMPH" her dirty mind surging ahead without help from me. She bends to her work licking her lips with and she asks innocently.

"Merle did you learn anything helpful?"

"Yeah Sweetnips. Bingo is a full contact game and walkers make really ugly hermit crabs"

"Merle are you sure you didn't hit your head this time?"

"Nah girl I'll tell ya all about it"

She kisses my on my scruffy cheek as Mya giggles delightedly at the entrance to the cell.

"Mya yer needed in the kitchen, Mrs. McMannus says no peanut galleries"

"Skya we got some complications we got ta talk about. Hope ya heal fast"

Her brow furrows, her eyes glint and she growls UMMM?"

**_My muse is back and it has a particularly odd sense of humor. Did anyone catch a GOTG reference and a Michael Rooker reference too. Hee. Tell me if you like it! To the review and follow that I got thank you. It means a great deal. I do know I have a quirky style. I'm working on that. There will be a "winter hiatus story" that will explore everyone's backstory through their own eyes. Enjoy peeps!_**


	45. Snipers & Screwups

**Hello Peeps long time no hear huh? Its been a crazy busy couple of months in real life. Holidays blah blah blah. Work blah blah blah. Its the last chapter or so now of _Bayonet_ with _Tell me a story_ taking us up to spring and the beginning of season 4. Ive always been interested in how cold it gets in** **canon and how it affects the walkers. **

**Please help me out peeps review this crazy story of mine. Let me know what you would like to see in part II. ****It also is going to be a very different writing style than this one; going to be ****completely AU following the first couple of chapters. So Merle as you know is rude pottymouth and misogynistic. Be patient folks the end is worth it. Im so glad to be back. I might be able to do this every month now that the worst of my winter blues are over.**

**Oh yeah I don't own anything but my OCs, AU storyline and the wonderful TWD universe is a playground that AMC owns I just hang out there with my friends.**

Merle Pov

Just before Dawn, Winter Solstice:

I lean on the door of her cell watching Skya sleep restless 'cause of her broken arm. She is a left side sleeper and snores fitfully and deeply surprising me with the obscene sounds that she somehow can make. Her little towheaded girl curls up to her Mother spooning in the process causing Skya to wince slightly in her sleep. I shake my head remembering the many times I woke briefly during my long periods of insensibility; finding her fallen asleep sitting up with her face near mine; fumes of her stale breath washing over me. I'd watch her silently counting the freckles on her nose and lips and feeling a familiar stirring as she would lick her lips in her sleep imagining the play of her tongue on my impressive shaft.

"Gotta save that for later 'ol man, ya got shit ta accomplish today. Ya getting' a hard on like yer 16 again"

I turn and walk out to the early dawn, shivering slightly in my almost warm enough flannel shirt, preferring the flexibility over my heavy leather jacket. I'm going hunting today to supplement the canned goop that is becoming less appealing as the dates on the cans are increasingly expired. Don't need to get freakin' botulism now. I don't fancy diarrhea in public any more than the next person. I got my blade and my silenced firearm with plenty of ammo making several of my pants pockets heavy.

The days have been increasingly shorter and darker which in turn makes most of the others a pain in the ass to deal with. I've taken to disappearing in the dawn to keep out of their way and to hunt. I've noticed that the walkers are feeling the cold too; they're slower and easier for me to avoid.

A cough has settled into my lungs as Hershel predicted, so I have less energy and I too have been sleeping more. Ain't used to this shit. I've always been healthy as a mean hound dog and just as willin' to hump. Never had colds or lung problems not till the Governor felt the need to open my chest up. Now I feel weakness for the first time in my life, and I have to fight to act like I'm normal. But I see Hershel watching me when I cough; when I lean over to catch my breath after a particularly painful one that makes my healed gunshot wounds ache. I just nod at him and go about my way.

I creep along silently in the woods, until I come upon a fresh walker corpse. I dig into the disgustin' blackened slimy goo of the chest and guts. I grimly chuckle considering the similarity to dismantling a week old turkey for stew. I trail guts over my black flannel coat, my stomach protesting slightly as I attempt to blend into any cover without endangering myself.

I sit and wait for the crepuscular critters to emerge just before the dawn fully begins. I take a rabbit nosing about in the dew, and fat raccoon. I chuckle to myself as I think about the pedigreed pampered Woodbury residents tucking into the gamey meat like it is their last hope. I shiver feeling the winter cold settle into my ribs, driving my cough into the morning air as I fight to keep silent, ending up exploding mutely into my revolting sleeve.

I groan getting to my feet feeling every bit of 50 give or take a few months. The filthy bastards are wandering aimlessly around smelling the fresh kills and starting to get too damn interested in me. I crawl into an abandoned car near the road on the way back to the prison and fall asleep smelling god-awful ripe as I wait for the growing herd to pass.

I sleep

I dream

I'm 20 and a Marine, the healthiest and happiest I have ever been in my life. There I am at boot camp in a line of green bowling pins at the mercy of Drill Sergeant Zim, who was at least half a foot taller than me and easily 50 pounds heavier. Being just shy of 6 foot and 190# that meant the Yankee was huge and intimidating as all fucking hell.

"Gotta question to you lily livered cowards and you better know what to do because you piss poor lot are going to go into battle soon and if you freeze like the pathetic excuse for Marines that I see. YOU WILL Be KILLED! DO you get me!"

"Yes Sir We Get You SIR!"

"So what will you grunts do to find the enemy in the field? I assure you that they are smarter than you and tougher than you cracker bastards. Just because they're the enemy doesn't make them incompetent or stupid. I know you think you are the toughest bastards to ever grace the face of the earth but I assure that it isn't anywhere close to true"

Silence

"Are all inbred hilljack asswipes collected in this room? If you don't get any smarts you all will DIE. You hear me?

More silence

"I asked you recruits a question!"

Drill Sergeant Zim had what I later learned was a Boston accent. It done got more clipped the angrier he got until he was quite literally red faced and spitting, looking like a human bull ready to gore one of his unlucky recruits. Usually it was me cause that I had the thickest accent and the biggest mouth. Fortunately for me my rough upbringing also gave me some natural talent in weaponry and fighting or he would have left more than bruises.

"Blend" it just slipped out. The hunter in me answering.

"What did you say recruit? You dumb redneck piece of shit."

"Blend sir, like when ya hunt. Sir"

"You say SIR! Drill sergeant Sir!"

Zim gets into my face so I could smell the garlic from his breath and see the too large pores of his skin. Towering over me like the gigantic beast he was.

"Looks like the Redneck numbnuts grew a better brain than any of you useless bastards. Down jackasses and give me 50 for being dumb. You Dixon two laps for being insolent"

I didn't move, the stubborn cocky idiot inside just dug himself in deeper.

"Sir yes sir! But was I right Sir"

He knocked me down to my knees twisting my left arm behind me until my shoulder slid out of joint until I grunted in pain as he pinned me in the mud of early spring; bruising my ribs with his bulk.

"Get up and fucking run, right to the medic Hick. Yes you were right. You camouflage your pasty ass. Hear that you useless pieces of trash. Private Dixon was in fact correct. You camouflage yourself hide in a fucking tree if you can or blend into a field or fucking what you can. (quietly he finished) Don't ever call me unfair shithead, and get the medic to take care of your shoulder. I felt it come out of joint"

I continue to hear the echo of his voice as the dream fades, leaving me blinking as I consider. Blending huh. I remember how I lately seem to be picking up on a stealthy silent presence in the trees around the perimeter of the prison. It hits home as I remember my training. How in Granada we were taught to blend into the landscape our camo clothing and face paint hiding our pale faces in the unfamiliar climate.

I remember Granada; me at the age of 20 with cropped curly hair just as full as it is now, but not one line or scar on my face, red under my paint. I was one of the ones chosen to infiltrate them in the early dawn in the peace just before the fight. We exchanged gunfire, my comrades giving away their positions too early and getting me shot through the side, but not before I had taken 4 down with my silenced rifle.

I have to find them. I have to know if the Governor is back or is it a different psychopath. I still want to grab Daryl and bug out to PawPaw's cave based cottage; tucked away perfect for hunting and keeping a stealthy lifestyle. Maybe I would take Skya too for medical care and sweet tits, even if I have to deal with her kiddos. But two more hunters to train and hands to work, they're not tiny annoying kids. If I can teach Daryl who had the attention span of a drunken gnat, I can teach them too. I can hear it now, Daryl tagging along with me at the annoying age of 6.

"Merle! Hey Merle whatcha doin? Can I come Merle? Huh can I come? Why ya mad Merle, come on Merle wait up. I'm ready now. Look see I'm big".

I remember how pissed I got

"Shut yer godforsaken mouth ya lil shit. Christ on a cracker. It's bigger than anything else on ya. And the reason yer gonna be hungry tonight cause ya done scared all the game away with yer damn yappin. Like I ain't tole you a thousand fucking times to shut the hell up when we're out here"

Now: mid morning just after breakfast

I wake alone in the beat to shit car coughing myself awake, freezing cold noting that the temperature continues to plummet. I also notice the glinting again coming out of the trees.

Got em I think to myself as I silently get out of the car to the frigid mountain air, again having to bend over and hack my brains out. Ugh this shit ain't sounding good even to me.

I'm tracking around the damn prison chasing my tail and I have the feeling that I'm being watched. I don't know if the Governor is finding his sleazy way back here to finish the job he started and ruin the good thing we've got here; but I do know there has been someone perched in the trees surrounding the entrance to the prison.

I see the broken foliage and the steps leading away are walking in a way you wouldn't expect from a gnarly ass walker. What I dunno is was someone treed by the walkers outta chicken shit piss yer pants fear or is it someone planning some ugly shit. I have the sinking feeling that someone is planning some devious cowardly shit.

I readjust the straps of my arm as the cold is biting at my all too sensitive hand stump, with my skin beneath as usual , abraded beyond fuck all and much as I try to care for my arm on my own I might need another set of hands. Skya is crippled up like me limited to one hand due to having a broken arm; that leaves Hershel. Even though he is well accustomed to the sore skin of constant prosthetic wearing, I don't necessarily like to advertise the daily shit I have to deal with. I hate the sympathetic looks even from him. Skya never makes me feel crippled. She just matter of fact deals with the red and sore skin, treats the angles I can't get at and adds another sock to my cuff without saying a word. She respects that I know the limitations of my own hide and usually just raises an eyebrow when she sees how red it's gotten.

I look at the tree beside me frost shining in the cold morning air and there I see it, nails hammered into the trunk helping whoever ta climb. Interestin' though, that means the person we are looking for is small enough to have their weight supported by a sturdy nail and short enough to need help climbing some of the bigger trees. That counts out the Governor who is several inches taller than my nearly 6 foot height (but I am more muscular).

I pick up some knocked off bark at the base of the tree rolling it between my fingers.

I hear the predicted walker approaching me from behind and stab one up through the brain wincing as my prosthetic pinches my arm. The fit is still off, probably from the swelling and then shrinking. I might think of modifying the thing, rightly so too. It's been a long time since I made my prosthetic and my arm was different then. I whirl around cussing under my breath and take a second one through the cheek looking all the while like a shish-ka-bob at a gruesome Halloween party. I never did get into holidays before. Too much damn fuss and my life always was too complicated.

I reach up and measure the nails with my hand; it looks to be about 5 foot between them. I finger the bark on the tree seeing the recent scratch marks and I see what think are threads. I realize that I'm holding brown hair that would reach to the person's collar. It's from a short light person with brown shoulder length hair.

I've a nagging feelin', this leads back to the Governor somehow but it ain't his style, meaning that its one of his followers. The Governor is much more direct and he relies on his charm, not on hiding and being sneaky. No this might be someone he is sending to do his dirty work for him. That bastard can unleash the demons of hell, but he forgets that those demons were my drinking buddies and I know how demons think. Hell if I can't teach them a thing or two.

As much as I was hoping to never go back, this means a trip to the remnants of Woodbury. I need to see if I can track any recent activity back to us or if it were truly abandoned. Sigh. I hoped never to go there again. Drugs and a shitty life made me a hard ass long ago. It wasn't until being at Woodbury and a becoming a well treated soldier of the Governor that I really almost became soulless prick. Now I have to go back and remember all the horrible things I did. I watched a good possibility begin the slide down that slippery slope toward dictatorship and brainwashing. Now I have to go back and see if I can find life in the smoldering wreckage and see if it leads here.

I knew about the hidden cells, the places that people who said too much or were too stubborn like Andrea were taken for his special attention. That's where they disappeared to before they were dismembered and fed to the walker pits to keep them feisty and make for a good show in the arena.

I remember the ones who we found on runs; the parents of little kids who I betrayed for supplies, women who the Governor used as his playthings (like Andrea –so naïve). They found out he didn't care about them until too late. I was stuck at least that's what I told myself. Waiting for my brother, I had a good place and I was respected. I had pussy, liquor (or lick her – heh), weed when I wanted it, but no hard core shit- that ain't for me no more. My sobriety was hard won and continues to be hard kept. Woodbury was the last stop of lost souls, myself being one of the most lost.

I ghost around the perimeter of the prison's perimeter fence the slime layer I now reapplied to my clothing acting as deterrent; to prevent the useless skank asses becoming too interested in my warm tasty self; but it does nothing to shield me from the cold mountain air. I shiver as the wind picks up and the temperature falls as the snow starts, increasing my misery. I have to work harder to focus on my stealth mission and prevent my hacking cough from catching up to me at the wrong damn time.

My quiet manner in the woods is helping me slip silently by the useless foul monsters ambling stupidly about. I notice the older corpses are showing less coordination as the winter continues to work on their condition. I see pieces hanging off them looking like jerky dried and frozen too many times; their withered muscles cracking and becoming more useless. The cold of the mountains apparently are quickening the process that the insects and the heat began.

I lean against a tree wheezing in the thin cold air, my shivering catching up to me in my sodden slime encrusted hunting coat as several more walkers go by. I consider the road just beyond the trees noticing how easy it would be to keep track of the coming and going of the prison. I see a generous branch and several new nails in this tree as well. Looking down the line I walked this is the third tree with what could be a lookout in it.

Shit this just ain't good. Someone is being a sneaky fuck; learning our patterns as we become complacent. We assume the threat is gone just 'cause it hasn't yet used us as a shooting gallery. One day when we go on a run with a larger group, we might return to the vulnerable ones bumping around in the courtyard as mindless corpses or just as bad a smoking pile of dead. Then I would have to watch yet again as Daryl has his heart broken, digging more graves and putting more friends in the ground as worm food.

I push myself off from leaning on the big tree. I bend down to pick a paper up bearing a foreign looking word. Maybe the name of a place, muddied and trodden, but the handwriting neat small and clear the way mine used to be. Just another thing I miss about not having HANDS. I have yet to learn how the write my name or even print with my left hand.

It takes me another 20 minutes to wind my way around the prison, ghosting my way through the shambling crowd, resembling all too closely a bunch of drug addicts the morning after a good rave. Im going to retrieve my kills from the car near the guard tower; that I left them in after my nap. I'm approaching the hole in the fence that is begging for a new bunch of wires to hold it together. Too late I hear dragging feet behind me as a huge rotting hand snakes over my shoulder grabbing me and spinning me hard sending me to the ground next to the fence.

Concentrating on the task made more difficult by being limited to one hand, I didn't hear him approach and now I'm pinned by the huge rotting husk. I push with my weaker right arm as it strains to take a chunk out of my scarred nose.

"Oh no you don't ya fucking rat eater. Get yer fat ass off my chest. Ya make a maggot smell good"

I finally get a knee between us as we roll around on the branch that I tripped on backwards. It grinds my back shoving splinters where none should go. A shot rings out from beyond the guard tower and the rotting bouncer falls into my chest pressing me harder into the ground pinning me as I struggle to work free.

"Dammit ya shit licker! Get. The. Fuck. Outta. Ma. Face!"

I see Rick running over to me falling to his knees next to me and pulling the giant carcass off. l struggle to catch my breath again and realize how badly I'm coughing in front of the volatile ex cop. He puts his hand on my back as I strain wincing away from him, hating to be touched by that fucking idiot.

"Dammit Merle, okay man?"

He grabs me under my right arm pulling me to my feet as my cuff again grinds my stump. When I regain my feet he leans toward me speaking quietly and intently.

"Mind telling me what you are trying to do out here by yourself in the freezing cold. I'm assuming you are not actually TRYING to get yourself eaten"

I continue breathing hard wheezing through my congested weaker lung, struggling to keep myself upright as I consider what to tell Prick of what I found.

"I found signs of someone been watching from the trees, someone small, they needed nails in the trees to climb, say 5 foot tall, short brown hair was caught in the bark. I was on mah way back from hunting some tree rats anyway for the slimy ass stew we are no doubt gonna be treated to yet again tonight."

I spit a rancid looking glob near Rick's foot in disgust

"It's time we get our shit together here think military like or disappear like ghosts and find a safe place where no one can find us and we learn to be self sufficient. This here is sign that someone ain't planning beneficial fucking shit. Our vulnerable ones are done gonna be the ones who die, that will be your kids officer and Skya's kids. It won't cost me jack shit because I'm just another ex druggie redneck too fucking stupid to get the hint and die."

Rick looks at me and shakes his head swaying to himself as he considers. Rick leans intently toward me as I struggle to stop coughing the muck and slime of the blood and the ice cold mud, making me drip freezing goo. I stop shivering as the mud seeps through to my hide starting to feel drowsy and stupid.

"The council needs to hear that but ya gotta stop doing all matter of shit like this yerself coulda gotten yer dumb ignorant ass killed."

The coughing become more strained tearing at my weak lung painfully as I struggle to stand up to my full height as Rick again catches me under my stumped arm and hauls me back to my feet as I attempt to wrench away.

"Get the fuck off my arm ya prick, ya fucked me up enough"

Rick continues to haul me into the prison against my best efforts to get away from him, beginning to lose his temper too.

"Shit man you think you're the only one who has been wronged since this bullshit started. THINK we can talk about the matter on HAND for once and stop dwelling in what I can't change want to or not. HMM?"

I finally have enough of his posturing and I elbow him hard on the chin, tackling him into the freezing winter muck. He flips me being healthier and stronger and just as angry sitting on top of my aching chest. He pulls me near and roars into my face.

"I've had enough of your shit blaming me at every turn, not being able to focus on HERE and NOW. I need your skills. I need your knowledge but I don't need your crap"

I raise my head and butt him hearing his nose crack, feeling mine split "SHUT it PIG, you earned all of this when you left me for dead and when you fucking threw me away like garbage "

He answers by punching me in the left eye causing it to swell immediately, scooting up on my chest and leaning on me until I couldn't make a sound.

"I KNOW you don't understand anything but Force so let me speak your language. I know you don't think so but I value you and now that you're trying and I respect you for it. I need that respect in return. Do you THINK we can function here? Can you move forward and help me? I NEED your skills man, or were gonna DIE and so will the ones we both love."

He looks me in the eye and sighs hanging his head backing off of my chest rolling off me, wiping blood off his face smearing it, breathing hard.

"Shit man why are we fighting each other? Can we just stop this stupid crap? I'm so tired of this. I need your skills I need your strength and have you looked at yer ugly self lately. Yer still too damn thin, your lung is still weak and from the sounds of things I wouldn't be at all surprised if ya don't have a whopping case of pneumonia. Please you stubborn jackass, learn something for once and HELP ME and help yourself, ya ignorant dog licking blue nutted cretin."

He extends his hand to me to help me up as I roll around coughing like a frog breathing air for the first time. I look at it with narrowed eyes, finally I noticed the immature name calling and laughed in surprise, coughing and groaning.

"Whadda call me? Y'all 5 years old?"

I think for a minute registering the laugh lines in the corners of his eyes.

"For fuck Sake, Officer Donut Dick what the hell do ya want? Yer moodier than a horny high school virgin. What's yer angle because yer fucking mood swings and turnarounds are giving me whiplash and I'm getting carsick."

I shake off his arm and finish my coughing and wheezing way back to the prison, trailed by Rick not being able to stop him from talking at me, making me more frustrated and embarrassed by the second as he continues to not take the godforsaken hint.

"Skya's got one of the warmer cells you need to bunk next to her. I don't need you risking yerself and putting others in danger because you're still weak and won't tell anyone. I've seen plenty of hypothermia in my day and you need treatment now.

He puts is shoulder under my stumped arm and supports me into the prison. Shame in my weakness fires up my cough as, the rest of the sheeple gather around me as I cough and wheeze while I shake. Woodbury's librarian (god what is her name again) brings me a blanket to throw over my slimy shoulders and I plop down on a rickety bench making it wiggle as I lean over and cough up the grossest of lung butter.

Rick is whispering in Michonne's ear and speaking with Glen with muted tones nodding at me as he holds his swelling nose.

They approach me with Maggie trailing behind with her arms crossed.

"So what Merle, Rick saves your ass and you decide this is a good time to beat him. And Rick you decide to beat up Merle and then he's now your buddy? That's it y'all have testosterone insanity"

Rick and I look at each other and smirk as she stomps away acting like a moody high school girl.

"I still think you're an egotistical fool, officer friendly but ya might be somewhat useful"

Rick comes and sits next to me regarding me silently before he adds "Dumb as shit redneck but thanks for feeding my kids"

He turns away from me as my shaking gets worse

"You all on the council need to hear this. Merle might have just saved all of us. He found signs that there is a watcher in the woods possibly more than one. We gotta increase patrols and not just to enjoy the privacy of the tower, (pointedly looking at Glenn and Maggie, Beth and Zach)"

Hershel intervenes "Can't you all wait? Don't y'all see that his fingers and lips are blue? The big doofus has been hunting for you all and has given himself hypothermia. If ya want to talk to him you will have to talk to him while he's warming up."

Hershel regards Merle and Rick in turn looking like a stern preacher.

"Son you need get your impulsive self up to the cell next to Skya. I don't like the moist quality of your cough. This is not the time to mess around ignoring your health. The council can wait, as we saw this fall during the flu. It takes one person not taking their symptoms seriously to cause an unmitigated disaster. I'll be right behind you. Fortunately her cell is closer than yours and she has the supplies we need.

And he continues, saying the most he's said at one time in a while

"You're running the risk of hypothermia by going out there like that with your lung sounding as it is. I need to listen to your lungs but you sound like you have a nasty case of bronchitis going."

I pointedly look at my brother then Rick and motion them to join me with my chin. I heave myself to my feet and walk past the others clattering around in multiple duties, watching them begin to prepare the slimy evening stew, the draining of canned vegetables. I finally remember my catch abandoned in the beat up piece of crap car before I started prowling around the outskirts of the prison looking for signs of snipers in the trees.

"Hey brother ya wanna go look in the blue Ford pulled of the side of the main road? You'll find my contribution to dinner in the back seat. At least its fresh man."I said when Rick pulls a disgusted face.

Hershel interrupts again "Ya boys need to wait in the hall until Merle gets undressed and in bed to warm up. As I said earlier his lips and fingers are tuning blue and he's not shivering as much as I like. So which of you boys is volunteering to go skin to skin with him to warm this damn fool up again? It's too cold in here for him to warm up fast enough on his own.

Daryl:

I watch Rick drag my dumbass brother in the prison, they been havin' words outside. I guess they finally fought their way inta some kind of understandin'. That's about the only way ta get the big hardheaded dumbfuck to open up his steel trap mind about ya. It's about frigging time there's some forgiving going on around here on both ends.

So in they came; Merle with blood on his face, a swollen eye and his beat up nose torn up yet again. Rick with a bloody nose and blackening eyes. I raise an eyebrow at Hershel after he asks Rick and me which of us wants to get nekkid and cuddle with Merle. Like I don't see his lily white freckled ass way too often. I know I'd never live it down either if he wakes up with either Rick or me.

Being that he's been boning Skya occasionally I think she is a perfect suggestion. "Skya's the nurse around here and she's seen him nekkid more than I have. Besides she's in bed with a broke arm and punctured ass anyway.

Rick being the quiet thinker he is merely raises an eyebrow at the suggestion and chuckles quietly when Merle objected

"Shit farmer hop an along, do I even get an opinion here? Y'all talking like I can't hear ya talking about me"

"Merle I told you you're too cold and the prison although out of the elements is just not warm enough to warm you up even if you sit in front of the fires. Why do you think families have been bedding down together in the last few weeks? Haven't you noticed that beds are being pulled together and people are piling together like a litter of puppies?"

"Yeah old man I don't know how people can sleep like that. Daryl farts like a constipated bull and kicks like a horse. There ain't no way I'm sleeping with that and y'all know he's my brother and I love the little shit but it doesn't mean I want to smell his damn gas all day, probably suffocate more than I am now. Skya smells better, I'll curl up with her nice soft tits if I gotta choose.

Skya hearing the exchange comes over to my new cell as we try to help strip down my brother; his frozen hand not being able to grip his sodden clothing.

"Y'all get off me. I'm not a kid I been undressing myself for forty odd years. Fuck OFF!"

He begins swinging his cuff around with the blade thankfully now unattached and clubs Rick on the side of his swollen face as he kicks me in the side collapsing backwards on the bed breathing heavily as Skya leans her tall frame on the door of the bars.

"You are all crazy". She says in her clipped Yankee accent "Merle I'll help you if you ask me. You do know what assume spells yes? Yes. Rick and Daryl you know better than that. Just give us some privacy."

Merle sits down again breathing hard and holding his chest. "Princess who told you that I NEED yer help. Ya just want ta curl up with ol' Merle and get some sweet loving after I warm up. Don't say I didn't warn ya. I might be coughing and all but I still can make ya scream like a coon in heat"

Skya walks up to my brother smiling warming up to the awful remarks. "I'll take it from here Daryl. Don't worry I won't bite him too hard. You can leave us and get back to what you're doing. Maybe get Mya and Liam to help you clean those kills Merle bought back. They're bored with learning their lessons and sorting the supplies that Michonne and Merle brought back a couple of days ago.

I snort to myself smiling as I see two peas in a pod circling each other. "Ya'll right? Brother you behave yerself. Don't shed too much of yer stink on her"

Last thing I hear as I head out the door "So you're assuming that you'll make me scream. Huh. We will see about that. I'll make you speak in languages only the mountains and animals know"

Then smiling, she sits him down and starts working his shirt off after removing his cuff and hissing at the bruises and redness within.

"Merle. Whatcha been doing out there?" she begins as he smiles and interrupts her. "Let me tell ya a story Sweetness . . ."


End file.
